Casual Cruelty
by givemekevinbacon
Summary: Indulgence didn't necessarily mean sinful, and even if it did, it's not as if she were one for morality anyway. Besides, some rules were just begging to be broken. Huddy. Season 4 AU.
1. Indulgence

_A/N: Surprise! Upon realization that today is the anniversary of Bombshells (sobs sobs), I've decided to post this story a couple of days early. But be forewarned, I'll only be posting about one chapter a week. Expect it to be about eleven chapters total. _

**_What you need to know:_**_ This is set in season 4, so technically it's considered an AU. Established team of Foreman, Taub, Thirteen and Kutner. Wilson is dating Amber, and Chase and Cameron are dating as well. _

**_A big shout out to my precious little angel (aka, beta), Flynn! She puts up with my ramblings at 2 am and I am forever grateful to her!_**

**Disclaimer:**_I am in no way affiliated with David Shore & Co. _

_I really hope you guys enjoy this story! I've basically poured my heart and soul into this. _

* * *

Lisa Cuddy stared blankly ahead, taking a generous sip of her chai tea latte-an indulgence that only made her feel a _tad_ guilty—as she weighed the options in front of her. She leaned forward slightly, catching a glimpse of herself in the small mirror that was conveniently placed in the corner of the display.

Her eyes widened when she noticed that the concealer she had put on her neck not four hours ago had wiped off, and the hickey that had been left on her neck last night was slowly becoming visible.

She cursed him inwardly as she shook her head, ashamed at the fact that she was slightly amused by her current situation; she hadn't had a hickey since high school. She dug through her purse, searching for the concealer that she had luckily placed in there at the last minute this morning. She rolled her eyes when she read the label.

_Long lasting coverage my ass. _

She turned her attention back to the display in front of her. There must have been a hundred lipsticks to choose from.

Her sister Julia had somehow convinced her to spend her lunch hour shopping for makeup that she would most likely never use; she was a creature of habit, and her makeup routine hadn't changed since her mid twenties. But she had agreed, mainly because she hadn't seen her sister in a while, but also because deep down, she knew she would get in even _more _trouble by staying at the hospital—and her lunch certainly wouldn't have gotten eaten.

A flash of red caught her eye and she paused, standing up straight as she reached for the lipstick. She popped open the cap, carefully placing it in its rightful place—there was no way she was going to buy a color this _red. _Red lipstick was like red nail polish—it was good in theory, but was only practical if you were in one of two situations: a hooker or a pre-teen girl rummaging through her mother's vanity without permission.

Lisa Cuddy was neither.

But before she could stop herself, the unceremoniously red color was being delicately slathered across her lips, and she pursed them for good measure as she stole another glance in the mirror.

Her eyes darted to the half-exposed hickey on her neck, and then to her lips, and then to her half empty chai-tea latte. She took one last, long, draining, sip, and sighed contently as the gingerbread-tasting liquid burned down her throat.

She picked up the lipstick and twisted it up and down, watching as the flash of red would appear and then suddenly disappear. And for once, she wasn't thinking about the budget report that she had waiting on her desk, or the proposal for additional funding to the clinic that was due in a week.

She was thinking about how good this lipstick was going to look smeared across the face of Gregory House in a couple of hours.

Cuddy put the cap back on, smiling to herself as she took the lipstick in her hand. Indulgence didn't necessarily mean sinful, and even if it did, it's not as if she were one for morality anyway.

Besides, some rules were just _begging_ to be broken.

"Who is that for?" asked Julia in a surprised tone, pulling Cuddy out of her thoughts. "You don't usually wear red. In fact, every time I wear it you tell me I look like a hooker."

Cuddy smiled sheepishly, shaking her head in a nonchalant fashion.

"Just trying something new."

And it wasn't a lie, exactly. Because she _was_ trying something new—it just wasn't a shade of lipstick. It was a casual affair with one of her employees.

* * *

_Two Weeks Ago_

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she slipped her dress back on, his eyes widening and his breath hitching as she expertly reached behind her back and clasped her bra. He thought he was going to lose his mind when she ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it yet somehow simultaneously taming her curls.

He was sure there was a ridiculous grin plastered to his face, but he didn't care. Caring had gone out the window the minute he'd reached up underneath her dress and she hadn't stopped him.

It was a funny thing really. The situation they'd found themselves in.

They'd somehow wound up in the same bar not three hours ago—she was recovering from one of the _worst_ first dates imaginable, he was simply keeping up with his routine of drowning himself in scotch and misery.

By the time he found her, she was already two martinis deep. One more martini and several scotches later, they were horizontal in the backseat of her SUV, her windows completely fogged and her mind completely gone.

Not that either one of them were complaining.

The shrieking orgasm she'd experienced in the backseat of her car had somehow sobered her up, and before she could even think about changing her mind, she'd driven them back to his place.

Where they had sex—repeatedly. They'd barely made it through the door before he was shoving his hands all over her body. Underneath her dress, up and down her thighs, cupping her ass—there wasn't an inch on her body that had gone untouched.

And now he sat on his bed, his legs sprawled out in front of him, her back to him as she dressed.

He watched as she paused once her dress was back on, and he smirked to himself, because he could practically _see _the wheels that were turning inside of her head. And then she turned, smiling at him as she shrugged her shoulders.

"We should do this again."

He furrowed his brow.

"Have sex?" He paused and she gave him an incredulous look. "Okay, but you might have to give me a minute."

She got up, not caring that her dress was only halfway zipped, and she sat down next to him, her hair falling slightly in her face.

"No, " she said, tilting her head to the side and slightly scrunching up her nose. "I mean go out. Together."

"Like a date? You do realize who you're talking to, right?"

She shot him a wicked glare as she noted the slight hint of panic in his voice.

"Not a date, per se," She scooted closer to him, her eyes falling to his lips. "In fact, we don't even have to go out at all," she said in a hushed whisper.

He tilted his head closer towards hers, his hand encircling the back of her waist as he caught her lips in his. Her hand fell to his bare chest as she let out a slight moan.

"Then what would you call it, per se?" he asked, pulling his lips away from hers.

She hovered over him, letting her palms lay flat on the bed sheet beneath him. She leaned her head down once again, nudging his nose as she lightly kissed him once more. His hand began to slowly unzip her dress, and she closed her eyes, because she knew there was no way in hell she was leaving any time soon.

Cuddy took a deep breath, sighing in content as she felt her dress being pushed down her arms. She finally found the strength to answer, and through shuddered and hollow breaths said:

"Two people who've known each other for too long to bother with all of that dating crap."

He pressed a kiss to her clavicle, and she moaned once more as she collapsed on top of him. She ran her fingers down his chest, wrapping her leg around his waist as she allowed him to flip on top of her.

"But we'd get to have sex?"

He buried his face into her shoulder, nibbling at her neck. One hand tore through his hair as the nails of her other dug into his shoulder.

"That's kind of the whole point."

He paused and pulled his lips away from her neck, loosening the grip he had on her. "You think that could work?"

She bit down on her bottom lip, contemplating his question. After a few moments, she decided she didn't have an answer.

"I don't know," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her chest up against his. "But can you honestly tell me you don't want to do that again?"

He smirked down at her.

"Good point."

* * *

_Present Day_

"Could be an infection," said Thirteen.

Foreman shook his head. "Doesn't explain all the symptoms. Besides, the white count isn't nearly high enough to suggest an infection. There are growths all over this guy's brain and he has a history of cancer. Cancer is our best bet. We should treat with chemo."

House sat at the table, twirling a pencil in his hand while simultaneously sucking on a bright red lollipop as he listened to his team debate.

"Two different cancers in the span of three years?" asked Taub, scoffing at the thought. "That's unlikely. And if Thirteen is right and we blast the patient with radiation, we'll destroy his immune system. He won't be able to handle the antibiotics."

"And if we treat with antibiotics and Foreman is right, the tumors could metastasize to another part of his body. His lungs, liver, heart—basically any vital organ will be put at risk."

House rolled his eyes.

"So we're all in agreement that not one of you is confident in your diagnosis?"

Thirteen leaned forward, folding her arms across her chest and giving House a pointed look. "Foreman is right, the white cell count is abnormally low for an infection, but the count is all relative. The patient underwent chemo for bone cancer two years ago, _and_ he had a bone marrow transplant, both of which can cause a depletion in white blood cell count."

House nodded, following her logic.

"So you're saying it's a low count for any other patient, but it's high for him because of a treatment he had done over _two _years ago?" asked Taub, his words laced with skepticism.

"Well aren't you a Negative Nancy this morning?" said House. Taub closed his eyes and stiffened his back as House continued. He removed the lollipop from his mouth and pointed it at Foreman, a mocking look on his "First you shoot down Foreman's idea in support of Thirteen, and now you shoot down Thirteen's theory in support of—who are you supporting exactly? Your own? Because if you had an idea, I certainly missed it."

"All I'm saying is that there are obvious holes that need to be addressed—"

"Thirteen is right," said Kutner, interrupting Taub, who shot him a glare. House perked up, waiting for him to continue. "What if the chemo cells were lying dormant in his system? It explains the symptoms that infection wouldn't necessarily account for."

"Like his hair falling out," finished Thirteen. "His body could be subjecting itself to left over blasts of radiation, which is making his illness seem ten times worse than it actually is."

"And if it _was _cancer," began Kutner, "then the chemo should be treating the growths and they would be reducing in size."

Foreman scoffed.

"You do realize that chemo isn't one hundred percent affective one hundred percent of the time? The fact that the growths haven't gone down in size doesn't solidify your crazy theory of long forgotten chemo cells."

"So chemo, but no cancer," mused House. "I like it."

"Of course you do," said Foreman.

"We need to biopsy one of the growths in order to prove infection," said Thirteen. "Running labs will take too long."

"No way," said Foreman.

House rolled his eyes, his lips curving into a mocking smile. Taub and Kutner closed their eyes and simultaneously leaned back in their chairs, rubbing their foreheads slightly. They immediately straightened when Thirteen shot them a wary look.

"Okay, now _you_ get the title of Negative Nancy. And you'll notice how I didn't bother to take either one of your genders into consideration when dishing out the nicknames," said House, taking the lollipop from his mouth and pointing it back and forth from Foreman to Taub. "I'm progressive that way. Insults shouldn't be gender specific."

"The growths are way too close to his limbic system, a biopsy would be too dangerous. You're putting the stability of his entire mental state at risk on the idea that radiation has been pumping through this guy's blood stream for the past two years. It's insane!"

"So we biopsy the growth and we might alter his mental status, _or _we simply treat with antibiotics and hope that we're right and that's it's not cancer, _or _Foreman is right and it actually is cancer and we've done all this for nothing," said Taub, clearly disgruntled with the case.

House simply shrugged and returned his lollipop to his mouth.

Kutner paused, tilting his head to the side. "Impaired mental state is better than no mental state at all," he said nonchalantly.

"The biopsy is our best bet," said Thirteen. Foreman scoffed and leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes.

"Don't worry," began House mockingly, "you guys sit here, relax. I'll go talk to the boss lady."

"It's a waste of time," said Foreman, shaking his head for what seemed like the _millionth _time in the last ten minutes. "She's never going to go for it!"

House gave him a knowing look.

"Oh, you'd be surprised at what Cuddy goes for these days." He gave his team a dramatic wink, which only caused them to roll their eyes. "Prep the patient for the biopsy."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," said Cuddy dryly as she stared into the mirror in her bathroom. She was in the middle of applying her new lipstick when House had barged into her office unannounced. "You want to do a risky brain surgery on a patient because you think it's an infection, not cancer, even though the white cell count is normal, not to mention the fact that he has a _history _of cancer."

House sat in the chair across from her desk, twirling his cane in his two hands. She lifted an eyebrow, eyeing him suspiciously through the reflection of the mirror.

"The bone cancer is the reason we think it's an infection," he said, rolling his eyes. "Is it really necessary for me to explain this to you again?"

He let the edge of his cane fall to the floor in a somewhat angry fashion, and she lifted a hand to her chest and tossed her hair over her shoulder, feigning fright.

"If you want permission to do the biopsy, then yes, I'd say it's a good idea that I'm at least able to _pretend _to go along with your rationalization."

She turned so she was facing him, her arms folded across her chest as she leaned her hips against the cold, porcelain sink behind her. She licked her lips devilishly, crossing her ankles.

He shuddered a breath and tried not to let his mouth hang open—she smiled when he was unsuccessful. House got up and limped towards her, a dangerous look in his eyes. He must have noticed the new lipstick she was wearing. She cleared her throat, her eyes darting to the ground in front of her.

Suddenly the tile on her bathroom floor was just so damn fascinating.

"Chemo has been running through this guy's bloodstream undetected for almost two years," he said, entering her bathroom and shutting the door behind him. "That's what caused his white cell count to permanently drop to such a dangerously low level."

She braced herself when she heard the _click_ of the door locking.

His hands fell to the side of the sink, pinning her beneath him. Her breath hitched as his hands grazed over her fingers. "So you think that the count is low for someone like you or me, but for him—"

He wedged between her legs and hoisted her up onto the sink, his hand moving to her thighs as he bunched her skin-tight black pencil skirt up, revealing just a hint of the laced panties she wore underneath.

She moaned as she closed her eyes, her head falling slightly back. He inched closer to her, his hand moving dangerously up her leg as he pressed the side of his head to her cheek, whispering into her ear:

"For him it would be considered high, which as you know—"

He shoved his hand into her underwear, and he swore he heard her mutter something along the lines of _yousonofabitch_. So he simply let his palm rest against her, applying pressure every so often.

She grinded against him slightly, practically begging him to do _something_ with that goddamn hand of his, and he smirked, because there was nothing better than watching her squirm underneath him.

"Suggests…"—he dipped two of his fingers into her and she let out a slight cry, her head falling to his shoulder. She made sure to bite down as hard as she could before lifting her head back up. "Infection," she finished.

He nodded at her, but he didn't quicken his pace. He moved his mouth from the side of her head to her lips, catching her off guard in a kiss. She bit down on his lower lip, lingering before saying, "The growths are too close too the limbic system."

She pulled her lips away and arched her back, angling herself towards him as he flicked her center. "You're endangering the patient's mental stability."

He plunged one more finger into her.

"An altered mental state is better than no mental state at all."

And she groaned, because she was too busy thinking about her _own _mental state to concern herself with the possibility of damage to anyone else's. And she cursed him inwardly, because this wasn't the first time this had happened at work, and it _certainly _wouldn't be the last.

She caught his lips in his and parted them slowly, finally allowing him entrance to more than just one part of her body. But she had to pull away so quickly that it almost scared her, because suddenly his pace had quickened, and his hand was rubbing in and up and all around her with a force so passionate and strong she was _sure_ she was going to pass out.

Her head lolled to his neck and her legs tightened around his waist, her heel digging into his back so hard that she saw a slight wince in his eye—but that seemed to only encourage him. He watched her writhe against him, her lips parted and pressed up against his cheek.

And this time there was no mistaking when she whispered, "You son of a bitch."

Eventually his rhythm slowed and her breaths evened out, and she sat there, panting on the sink as she tried to regain some control over her body. She smirked when she noticed the streak of lipstick across his face.

She licked the inside of her thumb and wiped it against his cheek, gently removing the red stain.

"What do you say boss? Am I in the clear?"

She paused, furrowing her brow as her eyes darted to the zipper of his pants. She moved her hand from his cheek, letting it run down his body. He tilted his head to the side, grinning at her as she hooked her leg behind him once more and pulled him back towards her.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Her hand moved to the buckle of his pants, but her eyes never left his. She undid the buckle before he even had a chance to respond, her hands running underneath the edge of his shirt. She paused as one began to travel downward.

_Zip. _

"A little more convincing never hurt anyone, did it?"

He smirked. It most certainly did not _hurt._

* * *

"You're holding scans," said Wilson, catching up to House as he hobbled down the hallway outside of his office.

House paused for a moment, turning towards Wilson as their steps fell in line. Wilson narrowed his eyes, a skeptical look on his face.

House stared back blankly before continuing his trek down the hallway.

"I'm also a cripple," he said, causing Wilson to roll his eyes. "Sorry, I thought we were stating the obvious. Gotta go," he began, shaking the scans in Wilson's face. "Patient."

"Your patient has cancer, House."

House paused, lifting his hand to his mouth as in a shocked manner. "Wow, if only I had thought of that! Thank you so much , I don't know what I would do without you."

"You're going to kill your patient, House."

House shook his head. "You're an oncologist, you seeing cancer is like seeing the sun rise—it happens every morning, and yet, somehow it never fails to annoy me."

"And you're a specialist in infectious disease, of course you're going to see an infection!"

"Yeah," said House mockingly, tilting his head to the left and scrunching up his nose, "but I'm also kind of a genius, so—"

"Foreman showed me the scans earlier. It's brain cancer. The very _idea_ that chemo has been lying dormant in this guy's system for over two years is so far out of the realm of possibility that even _you _have to be a little skeptical." Wilson paused, furrowing his brow. "How did you get Cuddy to sign off on this in the first place?"

House shrugged his shoulders, his voice falling a tad lower than normal.

"It took a little more convincing than usual."

"More than usual?"

House rolled his eyes and pressed the button to the elevator. He didn't have anywhere to go, but a trip to the morgue might be a preferable to convincing Wilson that she had just _let_ him do the biopsy.

He had no idea how much it took to get her to say yes.

"You could say that."

The _ping _of the elevator alerted them to the fact that it had arrived, and House decided he might as well go watch the surgery. Cuddy would be pretty pissed if his patient died and he wasn't even _there. _

Wilson nodded before saying, "Good. She gives you too much leeway."

House got on the elevator, rolling his eyes as Wilson followed.

"You do realize I'm _doing_ the biopsy, right?"

"Yes, but the fact that it took a little effort means something."

Meaning. He was getting really sick of that word. She hadn't brought it up, but sometimes when he couldn't sleep, or he had a more difficult case, the word would haunt his thoughts.

"You take advantage of her House, and you know it. She can't say no to you because she has this idea in her head that you're always right—"

"Which I am, in case you hadn't noticed," interrupted House.

Wilson scoffed, shaking his head and pointing his finger. "No, you're always _eventually _right. There is no timetable for eventually, so she does the only thing she thinks she can do—she trusts you."

"She trusts my medical opinion, she doesn't trust me."

Wilson frowned.

"Since when do you care about what she thinks of you as a person?"

House lifted his thumb to his mouth in a mocking manner, biting down on it with a sympathetic look on his face. "Since my heart grew three sizes last night."

"What did you do last night?" asked Wilson, changing the subject. "We were supposed to go bowling."

The elevator _pinged_ and House took a few steps, planning on ignoring Wilson's question altogether. But then he thought better of it. He paused after getting off the elevator and lifted his cane, stopping the door from closing.

Wilson raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

"I had sex with Cuddy," he said, his voice never faltering. "That's why she's letting me do the biopsy. You see I do something for her, and by something I mean—"

Wilson didn't let him finish. He pressed the button that forced the door closed, cutting House off and chuckling at the preposterousness of House's statement.

* * *

House stood in the gallery, watching as Taub, Thirteen, and Kutner performed the biopsy. He assumed Foreman was off sulking in the DDX room.

He leaned his forearm up against the glass wall and pressed his forehead against it as he tapped his cane on the ground, thinking. But he wasn't thinking about the patient, not really. He was sure that it was an infection, it _had _to be an infection—he would worry about the specific one when the biopsy results came back.

He continued to tap his cane against the floor, and he gently hit his fist against the window and bit down on his bottom lip, because the steady rhythm reminded him of the familiar sound of her heels clicking when she walked.

He just couldn't get her off of his mind.

He was watching some stupid documentary on penguins the other night, and he thought about how she had a penguin calendar in her dorm room twenty years ago. He accidentally got a salad with his takeout, and he thought about how if she were here, the salad would have gotten eaten. He walked past the maternity ward yesterday, and he felt his heart drop slightly, because he wondered if it still hurt her to walk past it.

He shook his head as he tried to force the thoughts out of his mind and repeated the mantra _it's just sex_ to himself, hoping that it would sink in.

The door opened and he breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that some type of distraction would take his mind off of her. He removed his head from his forearm and saw that Chase was walking through the door.

"This is insane," said Chase as he stood next to House. He peered into the glass, trying to get a better look—he was clearly interested in the case.

"Thanks for your input," muttered House. "Feel free to carry on with your day."

Chase rolled his eyes but he didn't move. House turned his head towards him, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Cameron send you up here to check on my mental status?" snapped House. "Does it bother you that she's more concerned about my well being than yours?"

Chase scoffed.

"Cameron has no idea that I'm here, and even if she did, she wouldn't care. Don't flatter yourself."

House continued to tap his cane against the floor, and he closed his eyes momentarily, because the color of Chase's scrubs reminded him of a shirt she had worn three days ago.

"Why are you here then? Jealous of tiny Taub down there? Don't worry," said House, turning towards Chase and giving him a mocking glare, "he doesn't have the accent you do."

"I'm not jealous of Taub," stated Chase pointedly. "It's an interesting case, that's all. Am I not allowed to be curious?"

House eyed him suspiciously.

"You're not curious, you're bored. That's what happens when you leave my team to become a lowly surgeon."

"I didn't leave your team," said Chase, tapping on the glass in a rhythm that seemed to echo the tapping of House's cane on the floor. "You fired me, remember?"

House nodded and muttered something inaudible. Chase let out a slight chuckle, shaking his head as he tapped on the glass once more.

"Your patient is having a seizure," he said.

House groaned and pressed on the intercom with his cane. "Did you get the piece for the biopsy?" he yelled into the intercom; there was no need to yell, he simply felt like it.

He was doing a lot of things he simply felt like doing lately.

Thirteen nodded.

"Good," said House. "Push benzodiazepine to stop the seizure and get out of this guy's brain."

He shut off the intercom and ran a hand through his hair, turning his head to say something to Chase, who had apparently already left the gallery.

He tried not to think about the fact that Cuddy might actually kill him because his patient had a seizure during a surgery that she was skeptical about in the _first place_, and instead tried to remember the shirt she had been wearing that morning. It was black, and he remembered that because it had matched her bra—which had matched her underwear. And he continued to tap his cane against the floor, pretending to think about possible infections when really he was thinking about her five-inch heels that he loved so much. The ones she was wearing today had a red sole on the bottom—he thought that meant they were expensive.

And he continued to think about her, because he decided that trying to get her off of his mind was pointless, and that the better course of action would be to think about the next time he was going to get her off.

* * *

Cuddy walked into House's office about a half an hour after the biopsy had been done. He'd heard her walking down the hallway, but he hadn't bothered to stop throwing the ball against the wall.

"I heard your patient had a seizure," she said, folding her arms across her chest as she loomed over him with an unimpressed glare across her face.

House nodded, but didn't say a word. He continued to throw his ball against the wall, his eyes darting from the white board and then to back to her.

"I never should have approved it," she said, running a hand through her hair. "I said it was a bad idea."

House smirked, catching the ball in his hand and permanently laying his eyes on her. "I seem to remember you saying something more along the lines of "Oh my god House, yes more."

She scoffed, shaking her head as an amused look came over her face.

"That's actually what I came here to talk about."

House got up from the floor and limped over towards her.

"Looking for an encore performance?" he asked, getting closer to her. "Wilson is gone for the day, we could do it in his office," he joked.

She held her hand out, stopping him from coming any closer to her.

"I think it's time we start keeping our work relationship separate from our…other relationship."

House eyed her suspiciously for the briefest of moments—that was the first time she had _ever _referred to what they were doing as any type of relationship.

"So no more _lunch breaks_ in your office?" He winked dramatically at her and moved an inch or two closer, smiling when she didn't flinch away from him. "Granted lunch wasn't exactly what was getting eaten…"

"House, I'm serious. It's not a good idea, what if somebody catches us? Besides, I think we both know it's a little distracting."

"There is nothing little about our situation, Cuddy," he said, raising his eyebrows in mocked offense. She rolled her eyes, smiling as her eyes fell to the ground.

"Fine," he said, noting her sheepishness. "You're right, it's…distracting."

"Thank you," she answered sincerely, and in a moment of weakness, she let her hand brush across his. It took all the willpower he possessed not to pull her closer to him.

He nodded back at her, disappointed when she pulled her hand away. "It's for the best, anyway. I told Wilson we were sleeping together to get him off of my back. If he caught us he'd know I wasn't lying, which could tarnish my reputation as a grade-a badass."

Cuddy's eyes widened, her shoulders squared as she folded her arms across her chest.

"You did _what_?" she hissed.

"Relax," said House, shrugging her off. "It's not like he believed me. The best way to convince Wilson that something isn't going on between the two of us is to tell him that something most definitely _is_ going on between the two of us."

"We agreed to keep this quiet," she said, rolling her eyes. She couldn't afford for this to get out—he wasn't the only one with a reputation threatening to be tarnished.

"No, you agreed to keep this quiet. I just went along with what you said so I could get back into your pants."

Cuddy scoffed.

"How nice," she said, giving him a pointed look. "How is your patient doing?"

"Avoiding the subject entirely," he pointed out, tilting his head to the left. "Nice aversion tactic."

She shook her head and turned to leave when he let out a slight chuckle and took hurried steps towards her. He grabbed her by the elbow, taking her slightly by surprise.

"Patient is fine. My team is running labs to narrow down what type of infection is causing his symptoms."

She opened her mouth to respond, smiling at him as his thumb gently ran across her elbow. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be consumed by him for the briefest of moments.

His thumb was running over her elbow and gradually she was pulled into his arms, and suddenly she had never been more grateful for the fact that he kept the blinds to his office closed. His hand moved to her waist and before she could even think about stopping herself, her lips were pressed against his.

Her hand fell to his neck as she parted her lips slightly, a small moan eliciting from them. Her hand travelled down his neck, and once it reached his chest, she suddenly remembered where they were.

She gently pushed him away as she pulled her lips away from his.

"I see we're taking the "rules are meant to be broken" approach," he said, subtly pointing out the fact that she was the one who had initiated the kiss in the first place.

"Shut up," she said, giving him an evil glare and taking a few steps backwards.

"Get dinner with me tonight," he said, taking a chance and calling her bluff.

"We can't." Her shoulders dropped and he swore he heard a hint of apology laced underneath her words.

"Why not?"

She sighed at his assertiveness—mostly because she wasn't sure she had the strength to continue to keep him at arms length. Because letting him in was dangerous, but not letting him in was simply unimaginable.

But she pushed _those_ thoughts out of her mind.

"Because that's not what this is," she said, pointing back and forth between the two of them. She had a mocking smile on her face, one that she had perfected ages ago, one that he couldn't possibly crack.

Unless he knew her better than she thought he did. Which, when she thought about it, was highly possible.

"Then what is _this_?" he asked

She paused, biting down on her lower lip. Her eyes met his, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to open the metaphorical blinds to their relationship.

But she refrained, deciding that evading his question altogether was the better solution to their seemingly unsolvable situation.

"You're not ready for me, House."

She straightened her back and tossed her hair to the side in a rather saucy manner, unknowingly causing House's jeans to constrict. The things she could do with her hair really were unfair.

"And if I was?" he asked, calling her bluff _once again_.

She gave him a sympathetic look and closed the gap between them, lifting her hand to his cheek. She patted it mockingly, saying:

"Then this wouldn't be nearly as much fun, now would it?"

She gave him a smile and turned on her heel, not letting him respond. And he watched her as she walked away, the both of them trying not to think about how much damage all of the fun they were having was going to cause.

* * *

_I'm only slightly embarrassed to say that I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift and Maroon 5 when writing this story. Feedback is always appreciated. _

_-Alison_


	2. Pretext

_A/N: Wow! Thank you so much for all the feedback on the last chapter-I'm so glad you are all enjoying it so far. This has definitely been a treat to write, so it tickles me to death that everyone is as excited as I am. I've decided to post about every 5 days, so look for the next update on Sunday. I've flitted off to Nashville for spring break, so hopefully I'll find some time to write a little here and there. _

_Side note(s): I forgot to mention that I've started to make outfits for characters for my stories (well, mainly Cuddy). They go along with certain scenes, so it's fun for you all to see what I'm picturing in my head. My polyvore account is paigingalison, and you can also find them on my tumblr (sedgelstein). There are also direct links on my profile. Feel free to parooze!_

_This chapter also contains one of my favorite lines I have ever written-see if you can guess what it is. _

* * *

Gregory House groaned in frustration as he heard three forceful knocks on his front door. It was barely past 8:30 in the morning; his team knew better than to bother him before 9, and Wilson's little leech of a girlfriend—or _Amber_ as she preferred to be called—barely let him out of the house. He smirked and scruffed up his hair a bit—that only left one person.

He opened the door with a sly grin on his face, giving her a pointed look.

"Feeling a little lonely this morning?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her. She scoffed at him and playfully shoved his shoulder as she strutted past him and into his apartment.

"Thought you could use some coffee and actual food," she answered, turning to face him and handing him a white paper bag that was filled with some type of breakfast treat. "I know your last case was a little tough."

A sympathetic look crossed her face and he rolled his eyes as he dug into the bag and pulled out the blueberry muffin. He'd been working on a case involving an eight-year old boy, and it had taken twice the time it usually did to figure out what was wrong. It turned out that the father had been accidentally poisoning his own son—the poison was meant for the mother, but the prize of a husband she had chosen accidentally tampered with the kid's vitamins instead of the mother's.

Cuddy didn't even want to _begin_ to think about what had led him to that conclusion.

She took a sip of her own coffee, watching him as he dug his finger into the muffin.

"And," she began, pulling her lips away from her lipstick-stained travel mug, "I thought this would be a good way to entice you into coming into work on time."

House narrowed his eyes at her, and she narrowed them right back, practically daring him to refuse.

"Well you see I _was_ on my way out, but then you barged in here bearing gifts and wearing an outfit that is going to force me to take another shower. A cold one, I might add. Technically you're the reason I'm going to be late."

"You're still in your pajamas," she said, negating his first claim and ignoring his other.

"Why are you so dressed up anyway?" He popped another piece of the muffin into his mouth, and she blushed the tiniest bit as she threw her slightly curled hair over her shoulder.

She was wearing a simple green dress with embellished pockets on the side, her nude pumps with the gold point at the end, and about twice the amount of jewelry than she normally wore; she'd also paid closer attention to her makeup that morning.

"I have an important board meeting later that will decide if I get more funding for the clinic, " she said, shrugging her shoulders and taking another sip of her coffee. House gave her a wary look and she smirked, tilting her head at him. "Men are pigs."

House smirked—he loved the fact that she knew the effect she had on people.

"Anyway, I should go. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

House gave her a suspicious look. "I can always tell when you lie."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and took a few steps towards him. He set his muffin on the table next to him, watching her as her cheeks slightly reddened.

"I'm not lying," she said, shaking her head and keeping her voice firm. He took her arm in his and pulled her closer, running his hand down her arm and over her hand before interlocking their fingers.

"Maybe not." He ran his thumb across the giant ring on her index finger, and she let her eyes fall to the ground. "But the coffee was just a pretext."

He looped his arm around her waist, dragging her into his living room. She let out a husky breath, her lips parting lightly as he led her to the couch. He kissed her and she gripped his waist, her hands sliding underneath the hem of his t-shirt.

"Just to be clear," she began, pulling away from him and pointing her finger on his chest, "this isn't what I came over here for."

The back of his knees hit his couch, and he fell into the leather cushions, pulling her down with him. She let out a slight laugh, her palms pressing on his chest to break her fall.

"Sure it is," he murmured against her skin. His eyes were too focused on the dip in her neck to notice the glare she was sending him. "Bringing me coffee is your version of the early morning booty call." He shrugged his shoulders and lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

His hand then conveniently moved to the back of her neck and travelled downward, pausing when he hit the zipper to her dress. She arched her back slightly, taunting him as she shifted in a way that forced their groins to collide.

She smirked and let him undo the zipper.

"Since you cut me off at the office, our encounters have severely decreased." He pushed her dress down her shoulders, letting it hang there as her lips gently brushed across his neck. "Your decision, by the way," he added mockingly.

He bunched her dress up and ran a hand up her thigh, hooking his thumb under her beige colored lace panties and shoving them down her thighs.

"I told you it was distracting," she said, lifting her head from his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. He reached up and shoved her dress completely down her arms, leaving her half exposed.

"Like you grinding on top of me in a sheer bra isn't?" he said, catching her lips in his once more.

She pulled his pajama pants down with her hand, readjusting herself so that she was hovering over him. She brushed up against him lightly, rubbing her chest up against his. She settled herself into him and he moaned, unprepared for the immediate satisfaction she was giving him.

"If it's so distracting," she murmured, her breath hitching as he moved his hips up towards her, "why don't you take it off?"

He sat up, wrapping his arm around her waist and going deeper into her while he dragged her bra down with his teeth.

His mouth immediately went to her breasts, his tongue grazing across her nipples as she moved on top of him. Her hands tore through his hair as she guided him across her chest and released audible moans of pleasure.

"I'll do an extra hour of clinic duty every day if you promise to bring me coffee every single morning," he said into her chest.

He lifted his eyes from her chest and she pressed her forehead to his, murmuring:

"Don't press your luck."

His coffee was cold by the time they finally managed to make it out of the door.

* * *

About an hour later, House and Cuddy suspiciously walked through the hospital doors at the same time—a suspicion they tried to ward off by barely speaking a word to each other. Cuddy headed for the front desk to check her messages, and House made his way towards the elevator—but not before winking at her and taking a sip of his coffee.

She blushed as she reached the desk.

"Morning Dr. Cuddy," said Cuddy's new assistant, Alexandra. The young striking redhead handed her a pile of messages and gave her a fresh cup of coffee. "I got this for you earlier, so you might want to reheat it."

Cuddy nodded in appreciation as she flipped through her messages and ran a hand through her hair in attempts to tame it. She had to remember to start keeping a spare curling iron in her office.

Alexandra gave her a knowing look and smirked, taking in her slightly disheveled appearance. Cuddy had caught her in the same situation last week—thankfully neither one of them brought it up.

"Sanford Wells called and wanted me to remind you about the board meeting later this afternoon."

"Yes, apparently I'm incapable of looking at a calendar," Cuddy mused, thumbing through her other messages.

"I told him you were more than prepared," she said, taking a sip of her own coffee. "Your mother also called, but I told her you were in meetings all day."

Cuddy smiled at her. "Remind me to give you a raise," said Cuddy, smiling at her as she made her way to her office.

She was about halfway there when Wilson suddenly appeared in front of her. Cuddy stopped abruptly, lifting her hand to her chest and closing her eyes.

When she reopened them, he was standing in front of her, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes narrowed down at her.

"Are you going to say something or are you just going to awkwardly stare at me until I finally give up and just push past you?" Cuddy sighed, dropping her shoulders and looked into her office in attempts to convince him that she was in a rush.

"You just getting in?" he asked, tilting his head to the left. She opened her mouth to speak, pausing before giving him a knowing smile.

"I had a rough morning," she answered, deciding that the vague truthness to her response should be sufficient for whatever agenda he was hiding.

"Clearly," he retorted, pointing to the locks of hair that were uncharacteristically askew. Cuddy scoffed, shrugging him off. "Did I see you and House walk in at the same time?"

Cuddy shook her head in attempts to ignore him and walked through the doors of her office, hoping he wouldn't follow.

But he did.

"We ran into each other in the parking lot," she said, setting her briefcase on her desk and pretending to sort through files. "It's nothing to concern yourself with."

"He's been acting a little strange lately, don't you think?"

Cuddy sighed and sat down in her chair, opening up her laptop. She began to type in a rather fervorous manner, attempting to drown out his questions with the incessant clicking of the keys on her keyboard.

When he didn't leave, she finally relented.

"He's not acting any stranger than he usually is," she answered.

"Maybe not, but you are."

Cuddy glared at him.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on her laptop screen. She gave him a look that could kill, clearly offended by the insinuation of his words. Words that happened to be laced with more truth than Wilson anticipated.

"You're showing up late to work, by your standards I mean…not by the general standards of the average worker in the United States," he clarified, her scowl finally registering with him, "you're letting House get away with more crap than usual…"

"He saved that patient's life," she retorted, knowing he was referring to the biopsy she had let him do two weeks ago.

"He did," began Wilson skeptically, "but you didn't know that. Did you notice that he's not taking as much vicodin as usual?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Is that really something we should be upset about?"

"Upset isn't the word I would necessarily use. Concern seems to fit though."

"I have an idea," Cuddy piped up in a mockingly high voice, "why don't you go talk to House about this?" Wilson scoffed, rocking back and forth on his feet. "Since it concerns him, not me," she finished.

"I was just making sure it _doesn't_ concern you," he countered.

"It doesn't," she answered definitively, a lie that rolled off her tongue so quickly even _she_ was impressed. "Is the end to this conversation in sight? I have work to do."

He nodded and made his way for her door. Cuddy sighed at her desk, her shoulders dropping as she watched him walk away. His hand was settled on the handle when she rolled her eyes and called his name, knowing full well she would regret doing this in about ten minutes.

"Wilson," she said, causing him to turn around. He gave her a look and she sighed, pressing her index finger to her temple and rubbing it slightly. "You have nothing to be concerned about."

He nodded once more and then walked out of her office, leaving her alone with the sinking feeling that maybe _she_ was the one who had something to be concerned about.

* * *

House smirked, admiring his handiwork. Somehow, he had managed to sneak an entire ping pong table into the DDX room; several hospital employees had given him questioning looks as he rolled the table into the larger part of his office, but he had yet to get a threatening phone call or memo from Cuddy, so he assumed nobody had said a word.

Or, Wilson was right and she was cutting him a _ridiculous_ amount of slack—he didn't really care which one it was.

"Do we seriously have to do this?" Taub held up his paddle, perturbed by the newest addition of furniture.

Foreman sat at the table that was now pushed in the back corner of the room, flipping through a medical journal of some sorts and pretending not to pay attention to House's latest antics.

"Come on," said Kutner from the other end of the ping pong table, "it will be fun. I used to love this game as a kid."

"Taub is just upset because he's a Jew who got stuck with the adopted Indian as a partner and I got the hot bisexual," said House.

House lifted his paddle and hit the ball across the table towards Thirteen, who hit it right back. Taub groaned and looked at Kutner, who was grinning eagerly at him—Taub begrudgingly decided to play along.

"Would anyone care to discuss the patient?" Foreman called from the other end of the room.

House rolled his eyes as he hit the ball across the table once more. This time Kutner was more than ready, and he hit it back with such force that Taub stumbled trying to get to it in time.

"Could be Addison's disease," began Thirteen. "Her appetite is relatively non-existent and her blood pressure is unusually low."

"Addison's disease usually presents as a direct result from a bigger illness or traumatic event," said Kutner. He hit the ball with his paddle across the table and it whizzed past House, falling to the ground. Kutner threw his arm up in the air, silently cheering to himself.

He cleared his throat when he noticed the glare he was getting from House. "So we should uh…double check for infections and get a better history."

"It could also be sarcoidosis," said Foreman, getting up from the table and making his way towards the rest of the team. House tried to steal Taub's paddle from him and hand it to Foreman, who simply rebuffed his attempt. "It explains the fatigue and the weight loss," he continued.

"But not the low blood sugar," said Tuab. "What about a B12 deficiency?"

"Thirteen and Kutner run labs for infection, Foreman check the patient's lungs for granulomas, and Taub, do an intestinal exam to check for B12," said House as he set his paddle down on the table. "Don't worry, we can rematch when you get back."

"Cool," said Kutner, grinning excitedly again. "Can I be on your team?"

"Sorry," said House, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm not like Thirteen, I don't switch teams." Thirteen scoffed and shot him a glare. "Go run your tests," he ordered, shooing them out of the room.

Once they were gone, he picked up the paddle and tapped the ball on the table. He smirked, wondering if Cuddy might want to play a little _tit-for-tat _later.

"How did you get a ping-pong table past Cuddy?" asked Wilson as he walked into House's office. "And why not just put it in the break room for everyone else?"

"Because then everyone else could use it," said House. "You know what they say about sharing. Wouldn't want to give off the impression that I actually care."

House took a dramatic bite out of his Rueben sandwich and Wilson rolled his eyes as he pulled up a chair next to House.

"You got here early this morning," Wilson stated. He paused, waiting for House to come up with an excuse. "I should say on time, but since you don't operate under the same social rules as everyone else…"

"Any reason you're so interested in my ability to arrive at my job at an acceptable hour?" interrupted House.

"I also noticed you and Cuddy arrived at the same time," said Wilson, narrowing his eyes.

House threw his sandwich down on his plate, rolling his eyes and turning towards his friend. "Are you here to play ping pong or detective? Because I'm really only interested in one of those. And even then, I'm not _all_ that interested."

Wilson let out a slight laugh, shaking his head back and forth in amusement.

"You're deflecting."

House groaned.

"We ran into each other right outside the hospital. Satisfied?"

Wilson laughed once more, letting his hand fall to the side and waving House off. House eyed him quizzically, watching as he headed for the door that led out of his office. Wilson paused before leaving, his hand still placed on the door handle.

"It's funny," he began, turning around to face House. "Cuddy said you ran into each other in the parking lot. You two might want to start getting your story straight."

* * *

Alexandra Kelly swept her mass of wavy red hair into a ponytail, wrapping a loose lock around the thin elastic that held it together. She balanced two salads and several legal pads in her hands as she tentatively walked towards her boss's office. She'd been working as Dr. Cuddy's assistant for a little bit over a month—which according to nurse gossip, was quite a feat.

And even though she was a recent graduate from the business school of NYU, she quite often found herself intimidated by the woman who demanded everyone's attention by simply walking into a room—though she rarely let her intimidation show.

Maybe that was why she had lasted longer than most assistants.

Alexandra knocked on the door as she entered, and Cuddy looked up from her computer, giving her a skeptical look.

"Is it noon already?" she asked, lifting a hand to her forehead. Alexandra nodded and gave her a sympathetic look; she'd been holed away in her office for most of the morning.

"Just past," she said, sitting down in the chair across from her. She handed her one of the salads, which Cuddy took graciously. "I thought you could use a break."

"Thank you." Cuddy's eyes fell to the stack of papers in the young girl's lap. "What are those?" she asked, forking through her salad.

"Oh!" said Alexandra, setting the notes on the desk in front of her. "I'm not anticipating that you'll have any trouble with convincing the board that the clinic deserves more funding, but just in case you _do_, I've crunched the numbers for similar clinics in the tri-state area, and most of them have double the amount of funding that we do."

"This is great, thank you," said Cuddy, as she looked over the notes in front of her. Alexandra smiled, happy that she had impressed her boss with the small gesture.

"I also brought you this." Alexandra reached into her bag and pulled out a curling iron, getting up and walking it towards the bathroom. Cuddy raised her eyebrows, and Alexandra cleared her throat, hoping she hadn't stepped over any lines. "It never hurts to keep a spare," she said as she came out of the bathroom.

Cuddy closed her eyes briefly before answering.

"If this is about this morning, it's not what you think—"

"It doesn't matter what I think," interrupted Alexandra. "I'm sorry, maybe I'm overstepping, and if that's the case, feel free to stop me right this second before I dig myself a bigger hole…or possibly get fired." She paused, waiting for Cuddy to interrupt her—she smiled when her boss remained silent. "People notice you—they've always noticed you, and they're always _going_ to notice you. Partly because you're their boss and partly because frankly, you're nice to notice."

Cuddy's face reddened slightly, and Alexandra let out a tiny laugh, scrunching her nose up in the process. She sighed as she sat back down in her chair.

"Dr. Wilson noticed that your hair was out of place this morning—and he's not even the biggest gossip in this hospital. What's going to happen when Nurse Jeffrey notices that the lipstick you bought last week ended up stained on the collar of Dr. House's shirt?"

Cuddy paused, eyeing the young girl suspiciously. She didn't know that her assistant was privy to the more private aspect of her life.

"Assume it's from a hooker?" Cuddy offered up, causing Alexandra's eyes to widen—half in fear and half in amusement. "How long have you known?" asked Cuddy flatly.

Alexandra sighed and twirled a lock of her wavy red hair, a nervous habit she had picked up during school. "I figured it out about two weeks ago," she said.

Cuddy nodded as she readjusted herself in her seat, trying to give off the impression that she was in control of this conversation.

"Don't worry," added Alexandra, noting Cuddy's uncomfortable state, "I didn't tell anyone. My job is to assist you. I don't discriminate in my responsibilities."

Cuddy sat up straighter, leaning forward slightly at her desk. Alexandra swallowed hard, once again afraid that she had overstepped her boundaries.

"You're pretty observant," stated Cuddy.

Alexandra shrugged. "I went to school in New York. Sometimes you get mugged if you're not observant."

Cuddy let out a slight laugh, and Alexandra smiled back before getting up.

"I'll let you get back to work," she said.

Cuddy nodded, excusing her from the room. Alexandra was halfway out the door when there was a loud _thump_ on the door.

Alexandra stiffened, watching as House tapped his cane on the office door. She turned her head towards Cuddy, who nodded at her to open the door. She begrudgingly obliged, opening the door to let him in.

"Ginger," said House, greeting her with his usual insult, "you're still here."

"She has a name, House," said Cuddy, her eyes fixed on the papers in front of her. "And yes, she's still here. Where else would she be?"

House shrugged.

"Your assistants don't usually last this long is all," said House. He let his cane fall to the ground, twisting the top of it so he was facing Alexandra. "What's your deal, exactly? She has to be a bitch to work for," he muttered, gesturing towards Cuddy, who was shooting daggers at him. " And I mean that in the very literal sense."

"Don't answer that," Cuddy ordered. "House, get that ping-pong table out of your office before I send maintenance up to do it for you."

"My team needs it to diagnose. We bounce the ball _and_ ideas off of each other."

"Is your case solved?" asked Cuddy, raising her eyebrows at him.

House paused, scrunching up his nose and shifting back and forth. "Getting there," he answered.

"Then obviously it's not working. Get it out of there," she ordered.

"Fine," he said rolling his eyes. "But I'm getting Red over here to help me."

"Me?" asked Alexandra, stammering the word out and lifting a hand to her chest in a questioning manner.

"You're really going to refuse helping a cripple move a table? Do you have _any_ idea how insensitive that is?"

House gave her a pleading look, shifting so that most of his weight was on his good leg. Cuddy glared at him from her desk, fuming silently to herself as he attempted to manipulate her assistant.

"That's not what—I didn't mean to offend you, of course I can help—" she paused, tugging on the hair that cascaded over her shoulder from her ponytail, her voice faltering as she tried to find the words.

"Relax," said House, his eyes darting towards her. "I just want to see if one of these days I can cause you to actually pull your hair out."

"Just get the table out of there," said Cuddy, standing up and rearranging some of the papers on her desk. "I don't care how you do it."

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "Come along little Assistant Alex, the table isn't going to move itself."

Alexandra sighed and walked towards the door. House watched as she took hurried steps towards the door and then paused, her hand wrapped tightly around the handle as she turned around.

"It's Alex_andra_," she began, "my name. Please don't shorten it unless I've given you explicit permission to do so. And I don't have a "deal". I'm a ginger with two first names, and it's a good thing I'm not emotionally stunted like you, otherwise I might start to think that my parents didn't love me as a child."

House paused, his mouth falling open slightly as his gaze darted towards Cuddy. Cuddy sat at her desk, covering her mouth with her hand in attempts to stifle a laugh as they watched Alexandra walk out of Cuddy' office.

* * *

Lisa Cuddy smiled to herself as she glanced at the clock, breathing a sigh of relief as she noted the time—it was pressing on six in the evening, and since her board meeting had successfully ended about an hour ago, she decided it was time to end the day.

She carefully placed her laptop into her briefcase and set aside some papers that would need to be attended to first thing in the morning. She was halfway out of the chair when Wilson barged into her office.

"You're sleeping with him!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger at her as he shut the door. Cuddy groaned, setting her briefcase back on the desk.

She lifted a finger to her temple, rubbing it gently as she tried to decide just how much information House had divulged to him. Wilson was shifting back and forth on his heels, waiting for her to acknowledge his accusation.

Cuddy sighed before sitting back down in her chair. So much for sneaking out an hour early.

"He told you?" she asked, half irritated and half exhausted at the mere _thought_ of this conversation.

Wilson shook his head, a sly grin appearing on his face. "No, but you just did." He walked over from the doorway and took the seat across form her, watching as the internal struggle in her mind became more evident with each passing moment.

Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip, debating on how much she should say. After a few moments of raised eyebrows and expectant looks from Wilson, she finally relented.

"And you're what, mad we didn't invite you to watch?" she fired back, glaring at him. He scoffed and shook his head at her. "This doesn't concern you, Wilson."

"It absolutely concerns me!" he answered, upset that she hadn't considered the ramifications of their actions.

"In what universe?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest as she rolled her eyes. He opened his mouth to respond, but she continued, quickly cutting him off. She leaned in closer, her voice falling to a hushed whisper. "Wilson, do you want to know the last time I had sex? I mean, _actual _sex. A year. _Very_ easy stat to remember."

"This isn't smart...this isn't—it's not you, for starters. You're his boss, and the two of you have always had some weird gravitational pull towards each other. This isn't going to end well—for either of you—and I'm afraid of what might happen when this blows up in your face."

Cuddy took a deep breath and rolled her eyes—this was about the last conversation she wanted to be having at this point in the day.

"House isn't ready for a relationship," she said, although she wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or herself, "and frankly, I'm not looking for one. Believe me when I tell you that it's just sex."

She was really getting tired of repeating that phrase.

Wilson scoffed, shrugging off her rationalizations. "It's never just sex. You two are adults. Friends with benefits hardly ever works and you know that. This isn't college, Cuddy."

"I skipped the whole friends with benefits stage in college," Cuddy fired back, smirking at him, "I'm making up for lost time."

"I know for a fact that's not true," he muttered, raising his eyebrows at her.

Cuddy pursed her lips, shooting daggers at him. Her face quickly softened, and she took a deep breath, bracing herself for the words that were about to leave her lips.

"Wilson, listen to me," she pleaded, her shoulders dropping slightly as she spoke, "House and I are fine. We don't have any expectations from this, nobody is dying, or getting pregnant, we're just…having fun. Your concern for me is sweet, but it's completely unnecessary."

Wilson eyed her suspiciously, a defeated look on his face before he began to rub the temples of his forehead.

"You're not the one I'm worried about here," he answered honestly, giving her a look that said she had to know that he was right.

"Wilson…"

"He's using you as a substitute for vicodin. He's getting high off of you and sex instead of pills and puzzles!"

Cuddy shook her head. "He's still on vicodin, he still has cases—nothing has changed!"

"Everything has changed," he stated, making sure she could hear the obviousness in his words. Wilson stood up from his chair and began pacing back and forth, his hand running across his face.

Cuddy's face fell to her hands for a moment, her elbows resting on her desk, and she paused, silently going over every single conversation and moment she'd had with House in the past month, as if she were suddenly rethinking everything. But she shook her head gingerly, forcing the thoughts out of her mind, because she refused to be wrong about this.

"Did you ever think that maybe I'm using him right back? I am _alone_, Wilson. All the time. And people aren't exactly lining up to spend time with House. We're friends, we get along well—it's not like we haven't done it before."

Wilson eyed her suspiciously, confused by her last statement. Cuddy sighed, becoming aware of the fact that she had unknowingly spilt one of her better-kept secrets regarding Gregory House.

And a small part of her heart quivered, because he really wasn't lying when he said he never told anyone.

"Skipping past all _that_," said Wilson, shaking his head, "Mutually assured destruction? That's your plan of attack?" Cuddy rolled her eyes at the drama of his words. "You use him, he uses you, and you're just going to what? Wait until it blows up in your face?"

Cuddy squared her shoulders, narrowing her eyes at him.

"My vagina is not a weapon of mass destruction, Wilson," she stated calmly, yet in a surprisingly harsh tone. "Are we done? I was on my way out."

Wilson sighed and nodded his head. She gave him a smile of appreciation as she gathered her briefcase into her hands and walked away from his desk. Wilson let her walk past him and then opened the door for her.

He put his hand on her arm gently, stopping her from leaving for a brief moment. She turned her head towards him, giving him a tired look.

"Cuddy," he began softly, pleading with her, "just be careful."

Cuddy simply patted his hand and gave him a smile, walking out of her office and refusing to give a semblance of merit to his pleas.

* * *

Cuddy took a sip of the wine House had handed to her when she walked into his apartment about half an hour ago, sighing in content as she propped her feet up on his coffee table.

His arm was draped across her legs, his hand occasionally kneading away at the denim material of her jeans while a movie that neither one of them were paying attention to played in the background.

She set the glass on the table and turned her head towards him, her hair sprawling out on the cushion behind her.

"Wilson thinks we're making a mistake," she said, her eyes flickering towards him.

House turned his head, sighing. "Of course he does," he muttered. "He can sleep with dying cancer patients, but I can't sleep with my boss. Makes total sense," he quipped.

Cuddy eyed him quizzically, her mouth slightly ajar. "Wilson is sleeping with a patient?"

"Don't worry," said House, tapping her knee gently, "she's long gone. Why did you tell him anyway? I thought you wanted to keep it quiet."

"I didn't, he figured it out." She bit down on her bottom lip, lifting her hand up to run it through her hair before leaning it on top of the couch. "Do you think he's right?"

"He's never right," said House, staring straight ahead.

"That doesn't mean he's not wrong."

Cuddy sighed, shifting awkwardly underneath his touch, as if she were contemplating getting up. So House turned towards her, tightening his grip and pulling her back down.

She smiled at him as his gaze met hers.

"Do you think he's right?" he asked

She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't know," she answered. "I hope not."

House nodded his head and leaned forward, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her closer to him. She let out a slight laugh, falling into his arms and shifting so that she lay on top of him.

"Our combined IQ has to be at least ten time higher than his," he said, lifting his head up to catch her lips in his. "Logically speaking, there is no way that he's right and we're wrong."

She kissed him back, her thumb stroking against his cheek as she pulled away. "Well that's comforting," she answered, a sarcastic bite to her words.

And House kissed her once more, slipping his hand underneath her shirt and deciding that this was the best kind of comfort he could possibly give her.

* * *

_Let me know what you think!_

_-Alison_


	3. Wager

_A/N: I'm back from Spring Break, and what a tease it was. I did however, manage to finish another chapter, so I feel much better about posting this than I did a few days ago. Just for reference, Alexandra is (loosely) based on my room mate/writer extraordinaire, (I'm so original with names, aren't I?). She does a phenomenal job of writing NCIS, specifically Jibbs, so be sure to check her out if those things peek your interest. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

House stood in Cuddy's office, slumping his shoulders and furrowing his brow, perplexed by what she had just told him.

"What do you mean you're busy tonight?" he said, leaning on his cane.

She scoffed, sifting through the papers on her desk.

"Would you like me to get you a dictionary?" House narrowed his eyes at her and she smirked, leaning back in her chair.

"Fine," he said, standing up straight and rolling his eyes. "Busy doing what?"

"What do you care?" she asked, evading his question.

"I just like to know who you're ditching me for."

Cuddy stood up, her palms falling to her desk as she tirelessly searched for a pen. House smirked, watching her eyes roam over her desk in an irritated fashion. He moved towards her and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pen.

He handed it to her, giving her a smoldering glare—one she gladly returned. She cleared her throat before continuing their conversation.

"Why?" she asked, leaning even closer towards him. His eyes widened as he took the opportunity to stare down her shirt—an opportunity she had practically offered him, for that matter. "You going to beat him up on the playground?" she asked mockingly.

He darted his eyes up, eyeing her suspiciously.

"So it _is_ a guy," he said with feigned adoration in his discovery.

"Several actually," she quipped, sitting back down in her chair and turning her attention back to the case file she had been working on before he had barged into her office. "A few girls, too."

He thought his mouth was going to go completely dry.

"I'm going to dinner with some of the more _established_ donors to see if I can convince one of them to replace one of the radiators in oncology," she clarified. House rolled his eyes—he could practically taste the satisfaction she was getting from his somewhat jealous state. "I believe _your _team is responsible for the demise of the last one," she added.

House groaned—it took all the strength he had not to stomp his cane on her floor.

"So I'm getting denied sex because my team is incompetent?"

Cuddy raised her eyebrows, her eyes still completely focused on the papers in front of her.

"Oh good," she said sarcastically. She lifted her head up, giving him a sly grin. "You understand perfectly."

"Twenty bucks you'll end the night with me," he said, his voice falling to a husky whisper.

Cuddy set her jaw and propped her elbows up on her desk. She took the pen he had given her not moments ago and pointed it at him, a devilish grin on her face.

"This is driving you crazy, isn't?" she asked, trying not to let the satisfaction show.

"So is that a yes on the bet?" he asked, ignoring her surprisingly accurate accusation.

Cuddy paused, her mouth slightly ajar as she lightly shook her head. He matched her glare for glare as she pretended to mull over his offer.

"Get back to work House," she finally said, urging him out of her office.

House nodded as he limped towards the door to her office. He paused at the doorway, turning his head back towards her.

He pretended not to notice the look of longing that was plastered all over her face.

"I wonder what I'll buy with my crisp new twenty dollar bill," he mused.

Cuddy rolled her eyes at him.

"Keep talking and you'll have to go back to buying hookers," she fired back.

House tilted his head to the left, pursing his lips before murmuring, "Valid point."

* * *

"Is there a reason for your hovering?"

Alexandra looked up from her desk, giving House a glare. He'd been looming over her desk ever since he had come out of Cuddy's office.

House narrowed his eyes at her as he internally formalized a plan.

"Cuddy wants you to bring her another cup of coffee," he said. He leaned forward so he was at her level, resting his head on the top of his cane and giving her a winning smile.

Terrorizing her had become one of his favorite past times.

Alexandra scoffed. "No she doesn't," she said, looking up at him briefly before turning back to her computer.

House rolled his eyes at her and began to tap his cane on the ground, letting her know that he had no intention of leaving her desk until she at least _pretended _to engage in his conversation.

She sighed, pushing her chair away from her computer and rolling closer towards him. She leaned over her desk and took a lock of hair in her hand, twirling it around her finger—but this wasn't the nervous twirl; no, this was her "I know something you don't know twirl", one that was often accompanied by a smirk and a twinkle in her eyes.

House groaned as she continued.

"It's just past two in the afternoon," she said, turning to her wrist and pointing to her watch, "which means she's already had three cups of coffee today. One before she came to work, one about an hour after she got here, and then a little pick me up after her lunch break."

"Well now she wants a fourth," he argued, narrowing his eyes at her.

Alexandra shook her head. "No she doesn't." House opened his mouth to refute her, but Alexandra quickly cut him off. "Her limit for the day is four, but if she drinks it now, that means she can't drink the one I usually bring her at four in the afternoon. And if she _really_ wanted another cup of coffee, she would have just used the intercom and asked me herself. Ergo, you're trying to get me away from my desk in order to pull off some hair-brained scheme that I am way too busy to try and figure out."

"Yes, that is one scenario" said House, standing up straight, "Or Dr. Cuddy really _does _want another cup of coffee and she asked me to get it for her, but my leg has been acting up lately on account of that whole muscle death thing, so now I'm asking you."

"Which would make sense under normal circumstances," said Alexandra, playing along with him, "but considering the time of day, your request is a little suspect. Actually, it's a lot suspect."

"Not if she's leaving early today," he said.

"She's not."

House tilted his head to the left, a questioning look in his eyes. "Interesting," he mused to himself.

Alexandra rolled her eyes.

"I know I'm going to regret asking this," she said sitting up straight, "but why, may I ask, is that so interesting?"

House shrugged his shoulders. "She mentioned she was going to dinner with donors tonight, and I know for a fact she isn't wearing _that_," he said, tilting his head in her direction. "It's not nearly tight enough to get what she needs," he added winking at Alexandra—who had already begun to roll her eyes in disgust. "Which means that she would have to go home and change."

Alexandra smirked at him before reaching into her purse. She pulled a pink slip from her bag and mockingly slid it towards him, matching him glare for glare.

"Not if I already picked up her dress from the cleaners," she said, giving him a grin. "She has a meeting at five and then she's going straight to Flemming's."

House smirked at her.

"Congratulations," he said, turning on his heel. Alexandra gave him a confused look as he walked away. He turned his head over his shoulder and called "You passed!"

She watched as he pressed the button to the elevator—she could hear him humming all the way from her desk. She lifted a hand to her head as she realized the mistake she had made.

* * *

"Why don't we have a case?" asked Kutner, looking up from the crossword puzzle he had been doing for the past ten minutes.

Thirteen shrugged as she flipped through her magazine, glancing over to House's office. House was sitting at his desk, his feet lounging on top if it as he bounced his ball against the wall, pretending to watch the tv.

"He's in some type of power play with Cuddy," said Taub, who was drumming his fingers on the desk.

Thirteen gave him a skeptical look, and Taub shrugged, clearing his throat. "I um…I saw them arguing about something in her office when I was coming out of the clinic earlier.

"We're not scheduled for clinic duty this week," said Thirteen, giving him a knowing look.

Kutner smirked. "Is it just me or are him and Cuddy _always_ in some type of power play?"

"She's his boss," said Thirteen, shrugging them off, "you know House, he's constantly flaunting his opposition to authority. He's just pushing her buttons."

"Maybe she wants her buttons to be pushed," said Taub.

"Is that what you were doing in the clinic earlier?" asked Thirteen dully, never looking up from her magazine.

Kutner snickered in the corner and Taub opened his mouth to respond, but then reconsidered at the last minute.

Thirteen shook her head and then got up, giving one last glance into House's office. When he didn't move, she made her way towards the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Taub.

Kutner looked up from his crossword, balancing the pencil he had been using earlier between his teeth. Thirteen sighed, throwing her arm out in the direction of House's office.

"To find us a case," she said. "Foreman is in the ER, there is bound to be something there."

* * *

House had spent the remainder of the afternoon coming up with ways to pass the time while simultaneously avoiding any actual work. He'd hid out in his office for about an hour while his team sat in the DDX room doing slightly more than he was.

He smirked when he saw Thirteen walk out of the office, watching as Taub and Kutner hung back for a moment before reluctantly getting up to follow her. He assumed she was going to find them a case.

When they never paged him, he assumed they had it under control.

He took a nap in the surgical department break room, though he didn't get much sleep. He tried to tell himself that his boredom and restlessness had absolutely _nothing _to do with Cuddy, but the thought was pointless—she had taken over his entire mind, and he _hated _it.

Except for the part where he secretly loved it.

After his nap he made his way up to Wilson's office, deciding that his company was favorable to his team shoving a patient file in front of his face—especially if the case had come from the ER.

Nothing interesting _ever_ happened in the ER.

He barged into Wilson's office without knocking and wordlessly took a seat in the chair across form his desk. Wilson glanced up from the file he was looking at and gave him a nod, but House didn't reciprocate.

After a few moments of semi-awkward silence, Wilson finally sighed and set his file down.

"I see we've moved past the point in our relationship where we acknowledge each other's presence," he said, giving House a pointed look.

"We did the whole nodding thing," said House mockingly. He gasped, lifting a hand to his chest and tilting his head to the side. "If you wanted something more all you had to do was ask."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Cute." He turned his attention back to his patient file, moving his pen across it with determination as he spoke. "Is there any particular reason you're silently stewing in my office instead of your own?"

"Your chair is more comfortable," mocked House.

"It is not," answered Wilson. He sighed once more, watching as House picked up a bobble head figurine that a patient had given him last year. He quickly swatted his hand away, and House gave him a feigned look of hurt. "I'd ask if there was something you wanted to talk about, but since I'm sure you would just deflect, I'll refrain and get back to work."

"Got plans tonight?" House asked. He stretched his feet up against the edge of Wilson's desk and flicked the head of the bobble head, smirking to himself as Wilson sighed once more—sometimes grating his nerves was too easy.

Wilson smirked at his deflection.

"You're not seeing Cuddy tonight?"

House narrowed his eyes at him. "She's busy," he said, his tone remaining flat and not revealing a hint of his disappointment. "Think the leech will let you out of the house for one night?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "She has a name you know."

"You're right, that was rude of me," said House, shaking his head apologetically. "Will _Cutthroat Bitch_ let you hang out with the one who crushed her dreams?"

"Her name is Amber, but good try," said Wilson, shaking his head once more. He threw his patient file down and let his hands fall to the side in frustration. "And you didn't crush her dreams, don't flatter yourself."

"Fine, whatever," said House rolling his eyes. "Regardless of her name and any part I may have played in destroying her once overly confident ambition, you still haven't answered my question."

"You haven't answered mine," Wilson retorted.

"Cuddy is busy tonight," said House, shrugging his shoulders. "Feel like hitting the bar of a ridiculously over priced restaurant?"

"Sure," said Wilson. House nodded and removed his feet from Wilson's desk, preparing himself to leave. "Wait a second," said Wilson, tilting his head to the side and furrowing his brow.

House groaned—it was his classic look of realization.

"What is Cuddy _actually_ doing tonight?"

"No idea," said House, shrugging his shoulders and turning back towards the door.

"Right," said Wilson skeptically, "I'm sure you didn't pry into her personal life and bully her into telling you where she was going tonight."

"In case you've forgotten—which is impossible, considering the conversation you had with Cuddy the other night regarding this _apparently_ very sensitive topic—I _am _Cuddy's private life."

Wilson rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to continue, but House quickly cut him off. "And I didn't bully _her_," he said, his voice trailing slightly as she twisted his cane on the ground. "Look, do you want to go out or not?"

"What did you do, bully her assistant instead?" asked Wilson. House glared at him, and Wilson sighed, throwing his hand to the side. "Fine, I don't want to know. Meet you out front at 6?"

House shrugged his shoulders. "Make it 6:30," he said.

And he walked out of Wilson's office with a smirk on his face as he tried to figure out the best way to pass the next two hours.

* * *

Cuddy took a long sip of her drink, sighing contently as the ice of her vodka tonic bumped up against her teeth. She set the drink down and picked up the lime that was on the rim of her cup, squeezing it together and letting the juice pour into her drink.

She lifted her eyes from the table, smiling widely and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Sitting across from her were two of the hospital's biggest supporters, David and Anna Gilmore. Next to them sat Richard and Emma Gladstone, a couple who had been looking to make a proper donation, and to her immediate right sat Will Hawkins, an investment banker who had recently moved to Princeton. He'd been trying to get her to go out to dinner with him for months—she figured this was a good compromise.

She tugged on the bottom of her dress, blushing as he paid her yet another compliment that had barely registered in her mind. Her dress was simple; white and black patterned cocktail length, and she'd paired her classic gold jewelry and her newest pair of Jimmy Choo's with it.

She glanced down at her glass, noticing that the remnant of the bright red lipstick she had put on had rubbed off onto the rim. She ran her thumb across it, wiping it off and turning her attention back to her guests.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows at Will, whose eyes had conveniently been staring at her chest for the past few minutes. He gave her a smile and then let out a slight laugh; Cuddy simply nodded and gave him a fake smile.

She sat up straight, squaring her shoulders and preparing her speech in her mind. She was about to open her mouth and begin when she spotted him out of the corner of her eye.

That son of a bitch.

* * *

"I should have known you dragged me here under false pretenses," said Wilson, taking a sip of his drink. He shook his head at House, his eyes darting over to Cuddy's table. He gave her a small wave and she glared at him from across the restaurant. Wilson flinched. "Great, now she saw me."

House rolled his eyes.

"That's because you waved at her you moron."

House kept his eyes on the drink in front of him, taking the occasional sip; he refused to look at her, partly because he wasn't sure if she would have a satisfied smirk on her face or a look that would only ensure he wouldn't be seeing her tonight. Either way, he wasn't interested.

"Who are those people anyway?" asked Wilson

House shrugged and took another sip of his drink. "Rich men who want to see her naked."

Wilson smirked. "Men don't have to be rich to want to see her naked," he mused, lifting his glass to his lips. "You going to go talk to her?"

"Nope," said House definitively.

Wilson let out a slight laugh, rolling his eyes. "You know in some cultures they would consider this type of behavior to be stalking."

House groaned.

"If I wanted to talk about Cuddy, I would talk about Cuddy," he said, narrowing his eyes at Wilson as he took an unusually long sip of his scotch.

"Right," said Wilson skeptically, "you don't want to talk about her, so you bullied her assistant into telling you where she was having dinner, then you dragged me along so you would seem like less of a creep while you sit and sulk the entire night. Makes complete sense."

"You know how I feel about logic," quipped House. "Want another drink?" he asked, gesturing for the bartender as he attempted to evade Wilson's line of inquiry.

"I'm fine," said Wilson, shrugging him off. "You're really not going to go talk to her?"

"She's busy," said House.

"So you've said," Wilson mused, shaking his head. He turned his head towards Cuddy's table, taking a quick look. "She's bored out of her skull," he observed.

House set his drink down on the bar, sighing before he slightly turned his head towards where Cuddy was sitting. She was sitting in the middle of the table, fiddling with the unnecessary straw that sat in her drink. The guy next to her was clearly trying to engage in conversation, but she wasn't buying into it. House watched as he would say something to her, and she would smile or laugh, but then quickly turn back to the group, trying not to give him her full attention.

He smirked when the guy placed his hand on Cuddy's shoulder and she shrugged him off, making it seem like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"She is very good at her job," said Wilson, taking note of the way Cuddy was effortlessly schmoozing the table.

"Too good," muttered House.

House turned his attention back to Cuddy, watching her as she chatted up the table.

She lifted her eyes from the table for just a moment, catching him mid gaze. He shrugged his shoulders at her and slightly lifted his drink. She gave him a playful glare that eventually morphed into a small smile.

He nodded his head in the direction of the bathroom, but she narrowed her eyes at him, refuting his advance. He gave her one last pleading look, and she gently shook her head, widening her eyes at him.

He smirked as she cleared her throat and diverted her eyes back to the table.

House took another sip of his drink before setting it back on the bar in front of him. He drummed his fingers on the wooden surface for a few moments before swinging his legs over the stool. He turned towards Wilson and said:

"Be right back."

Wilson shook his head, a small smirk on his face. "I doubt that," he said, watching as House made his way over to Cuddy's table.

"Why Dr. Cuddy, what a pleasant surprise! I had _no_ idea you would be dining here tonight."

House gave her a sly grin, and she forced a smile, bracing herself as everyone at her table gave her confused looks.

"I'm sure you didn't," she muttered under her breath, hoping that no one would hear. House smirked at her, letting her know that he did.

She cursed him inwardly.

"Greg House," he said, introducing himself to the table. He extended his hand to the man sitting next to Cuddy, who tentatively took it.

House made sure to grip down on his hand as hard as he possibly could.

"Firm handshake you got there," said Will as he shook House's hand. Cuddy glared at him from her seat, and House smiled back at her, relishing in her frustration.

"So you're the infamous Gregory House," said Emma Gladstone, beaming up at him. "We've heard so much about you," she added.

"I prefer the term World-Renowned," joked House, shrugging his shoulders.

Cuddy scoffed at his obviously feigned pleasant demeanor.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to Wilson?" interjected Cuddy, sitting up straight.

"He's fine," said House, fixing his eyes on her. Cuddy took a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving his.

House looked her up and down, and she smiled at him, a sly grin appearing on her lips as she toyed with the straw in her drink.

House shuddered a breath before continuing.

"I just saw you sitting over here and I thought it would be incredibly rude not to say hello," said House. "Especially since I'm the reason Dr. Cuddy has dragged you all out to this god awful—"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and interrupted him. "House," she snapped, giving him a glare.

"What is he talking about Lisa?" asked Will, glancing over at her.

House rolled his eyes at the use of her first name.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. She stood up, smoothing down her dress as she pushed out her chair. House's eyes widened when he got the full effect of her outfit. "If you'll excuse us for a moment," she said, forcing a smile.

She walked around to the side of the table where House stood and grabbed him by the elbow, pinching him as hard as she could. House winced before turning back and saying:

"Lovely to meet you all!"

Everyone at the table sat wide-eyed, watching their interaction as the pair walked over towards the bar.

Cuddy walked him over to where he and Wilson had been sitting, her heels clicking against the wood floor as she angrily dragged him away from her table. Wilson gave her a slight wave, and she nodded at him, barely acknowledging his presence.

Once they were out of earshot, she released her grip on him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she hissed, folding her arms over her chest.

"With me?" asked House, bringing a hand to his chest. "You're the one who just dragged a cripple halfway across a restaurant. Didn't your mother teach you to play nice with others?"

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, ignoring his questions. House smirked; he could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

"Wilson and I wanted to get a drink," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Hey, hey," interjected Wilson, leaning from his bar stool. "I was brought here under false pretenses, leave me out of this."

Cuddy rolled her eyes as she looked over at Wilson. "You should have known better," she said, turning her attention back to House. "How did you even know I was here? There was a reason I didn't tell you where I was going tonight."

"You have a very chatty assistant," said House, leaning forward slightly.

Wilson threw some money on the bar and got up from his stool, taking a few short steps towards the two of them.

"I'm going to check in with Amber," he said. "You two enjoy whatever game it is that you're playing."

"Let's get out of here," said House.

Cuddy scoffed. "So is that what this is?" asked Cuddy. "Just a game? What, did you have some type of bet with Wilson to see if you could get me to leave with you?"

"If you recall, I made that bet with you roughly six hours ago," he said. "Wilson is just an innocent bystander."

"Whatever game you're playing," said Cuddy, taking a step towards him and pointing a finger on his chest, "it's not going to work."

"Really?" asked House, his voice falling to a hushed whisper, "because from the look in your eye I would say that it is most _definitely_ working."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him, letting out a breath as she removed her finger from his chest.

"Tell you what," he began, "you go back to your table, pay the bill that I told the waiter to bring over five minutes ago—"

"You did what? What if I wasn't finished—"

"You were finished with that meal before you even sat down at the table," he said, rolling his eyes. "Meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes," he said. "That will give you plenty of time to convince someone to give you half a million dollars. I think your best bet is googely -eyes next to you."

"What happens if I don't?" she asked, refolding her arms across her chest.

House smirked, tilting his head to the left. He extended his right arm, letting his fingers graze across the bare skin of her arm. Her breath hitched at his touch, and she straightened her back and cleared her throat, doing her best to appear unfazed by his advances.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see," he said.

He removed his hand from her arm, and she raised her eyebrows at him, refusing to say a word. She nodded her head and gave him a smile before backing away from him. He watched as she walked away, and he swore she added a little jaunt to her step just to torture him.

She turned her head over her shoulder as she walked, shooting him a knowing glance.

House ran a hand through his hair, watching as she sat back down at the table and apologized profusely. He shook his head as she turned towards Will and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a smile.

She really was too good at her job.

* * *

He'd been leaning against the sink for approximately twelve minutes. He'd told her to meet him in ten, but he wasn't stupid; he knew she was playing games just like he was. He tapped his fingers on the white porcelain sink behind him, trying not to think about the way that guy was looking at Cuddy.

He pulled out his phone and noticed that Wilson had sent him a couple of text messages, but he decided to ignore them. He had more important things to worry about—mainly where all this pent up jealously had come from.

He knew that men were attracted to Cuddy—he'd always known that, and frankly, if they didn't find her attractive, he assumed they were missing a chromosome.

But seeing her act that way with another man, watching her flirt and graze her hand across his shoulder was making him sick to his stomach—not that he'd ever admit that to her.

He was about to leave when he heard the jiggling of the door open. He smirked to himself as she walked in, locking the door behind her.

Cuddy leaned against the door, her arms folded across her chest, shooting him a wicked glare. House moved away from the sink and walked towards her.

"Nice dress," he said, looking her up and down for the millionth time that night.

She shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. He gulped—she knew that drove him crazy.

"Thought you would like it," she answered, her back still glued to the door.

He eyed her suspiciously, tilting his head to the left. "You think about me when you get dressed? That is strangely satisfying."

"Let's just say I'm not surprised you showed up here tonight," she answered.

He smirked as he moved towards her, closing the gap between them. His hands gravitated to her waist, pulling her away from the door.

"What are we doing in the bathroom?" she muttered, her breath shuddering as his thumb ran up and down her side.

House caught her lips in his, pulling her closer to him. She relished in his kiss, allowing herself to get caught up in his game, a game she tried so hard not let herself play. But his lips were crashing against hers, and she moaned, because something that she knew was wrong had never felt so right.

"What if someone catches us?" she asked, pulling her lips away form his. House tightened his grip on her, leading her to the wall that was adjacent to the door.

She raked her hands through his hair as his lips met her neck.

"Paid the doorman twenty bucks to say it was closed for the next ten minutes," he murmured against her skin.

Cuddy sighed as his teeth scraped across the hollow space below her jaw; her head fell back against the wall as his hand dangerously moved down her thigh.

"Presumptuous," she said, catching his gaze. Their eyes locked and he smirked, shrugging his shoulders. He inched his face towards her, catching her lips in a tantalizing kiss.

She lingered on his bottom lip for a brief moment, watching him want her, feeling a slight pang of satisfaction at the desired look in his eyes.

"You came didn't you?"

She kissed him hungrily, her tongue immediately sliding into his mouth, eliciting moans of pleasure from each of their mouths. Her hand darted to his pants, and she fumbled with the zipper for a moment before finally getting it undone.

"That has yet to be taken care of," she whispered, pulling her lips away from his for a moment. He stared at her with smoldered eyes, their eyes locking for what felt like an eternity.

She shifted in anticipation, waiting as he slowly pushed her dress up her thighs, his hands pausing to nip at her skin. She bit down on her bottom lip, their eyes still locked as he pulled her black lace thong down her thigh—but he didn't pull it all the way down; no it clung to her hot, sweaty skin, and she moaned as the sweat dripped from her forehead.

She gasped as he entered her, but she refused to close her eyes, because their eyes were still warring, the both of them trapped in a game, neither one of them willing to be the first to break. And he inched his head towards hers as he moved within her, his forehead connecting with hers, but just like her, he didn't dare to look away.

And she clung to the thin material of his shirt, her freshly painted nails digging into the wrinkled pink button down that he wore.

"You can think about this when you're faking it for him later."

Cuddy didn't know what game they were playing, and she wasn't sure if she could win—or if there was going to be a winner at all, but she didn't care. Because for the next ten minutes she felt more than she had felt in her entire life, and if she lost in the end, she wasn't sure she would care.

She couldn't afford to care—just like he couldn't afford to care when she walked out of the restaurant on the arm of Will Hawkins a half an hour later.

* * *

House lounged on the couch in his pajamas, flipping through the channels; it was that awkward time between primetime television and late night reruns, and nothing seemed to catch his eye.

All he could see was red.

Her red lips, her red nails, even her red bag—he couldn't get the color out of his mind.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair before clicking off the television. He thought about getting a drink, but he wasn't in the mood. He couldn't decide if that was shocking or terrifying—a mix of both, most likely.

But she hadn't ended the night with him, which wasn't all that surprising considering their arrangement. Their arrangement was strictly physical; there wasn't supposed to be any emotion. He was supposed to want her—he wasn't supposed to _need _her.

House let out a slight laugh, ignoring the thoughts that were plaguing his mind as he realized he owed her twenty bucks.

He was about to give up and head off to bed when he heard a knock on his door. He flipped open his cell, noting the time and checking to make sure he hadn't missed a case from his team—he hadn't.

He groaned, because that really only left Wilson, which could only mean that Cutthroat Bitch—or Amber, whatever the hell her name was—had kicked him out. And he was in no mood to deal with _that_.

House opened the door, already irritated with the conversation he was about to have.

But the irritated look on his face quickly morphed into a sly grin, because there, dressed in jeans and a tight green shirt with an oversized bag slung over her shoulder, was Cuddy—and she was holding out a twenty dollar bill in her hand.

"I think this belongs to you," she said, extending her hand towards him.

He looked her up and down as he took the money from her hand; her hair was still in place, her makeup the same as it was when she left his embrace roughly three hours ago—logically speaking, there was no way she had actually gone home with that guy.

"I believe the stipulations to the bet were that you ended the night with me," he said, eyeing her suspiciously. "Which I suppose you are in fact doing, barring you're not a figment of imagination. Or a vicodin induced hallucination."

Cuddy strutted past him as she entered his apartment, ignoring his antics.

House shut the door, and she turned, facing him. "You should get dressed," she said, scrunching up her nose and looking him up and down.

"That seems counter-productive," he quipped.

Cuddy scoffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder—he decided she really had to stop doing that.

"We're going out," she said. He tilted his head, eyeing her suspiciously—going out certainly wasn't part of their arrangement.

She sighed, giving him a pointed look. "There is a midnight showing of _Casablanca_, which as you know, is my favorite movie. You hijacked my dinner and almost cost me $700,000. Luckily I was able to convince Will Hawkins to donate the money—and I didn't even have to sleep with him. You owe me."

When they walked out the door ten minutes later, he took her hand and noticed that she'd had time to remove the red nail polish, trading in the color for a deep purple.

He wondered if that meant anything.

* * *

_She just can't stay away from him, can she? Leave me your thoughts!_

_Alison_


	4. Loss

_A/N: You've all been asking me when the more emotional (it's been fairly? subtle up until this point, I would say), aspect is going to come into play-here it is. Note: I am not a doctor, and this is not a political statement. _

_Sidenote: Did anyone else see our lovely Lisa on Scandal last night? I'm an avid watcher of the show, and that scene between Sarah and Olivia (the one with the wine, that is,) almost brought me to tears. I'd almost forgotten how powerful of an actress Lisa is. If last night was your first time watching it-or if you've never seen it for that matter-I highly recommend it! _

_Moving on. (ouch, that hurt.)_

* * *

Cuddy walked out of House's bathroom, dressed in the jeans and the green peplum top she had worn over to his apartment last night. She hadn't planned on staying the night, but by the time they'd gotten out of the movie it was nearing three in the morning—it simply didn't make sense for her to go home.

At least, that's what she told herself as she drifted off to sleep roughly five hours ago.

She ran a hand through her hair, brushing her curls into slight waves as her fingers raked through her brown locks. She slipped on her flats and swung her bag over her shoulder as she made her way back to his bed.

House was stirring lightly, awakened by her movements. She watched as he felt the opposite side of his bed, searching for her body; a self-satisfied grin washed over her face when a look of disappointment crossed his lips at the realization of her absence.

She quickly dismissed it.

He fluttered his eyes open, smiling at her as she sat down next to him. Her arm fell to the side of his legs, and she slightly leaned towards him as she adjusted an earring.

"You ripped my underwear," she said, giving him a playful look.

"I can not be held responsible for the flimsy material of what you like to pretend is underwear," said House, eyes halfway open and pointing a finger at her. She raised her eyebrows at him, pursing her lips. He sighed, opening his eyes fully. "Fine. I'll buy you another pair."

Cuddy smirked. "No you won't." Her voice fell to a husky whisper, and House grinned, tilting his head to the side as she leaned closer to him, "I sign your paychecks, you can't afford it."

House closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers. His hand moved up to the back of her neck and he sat up, pulling her closer to him. She reluctantly began to pull away, but House kept a firm grip on her.

"I have to go," she said regretfully. House shook his head, trying to lure her back to him. He kissed her once more and she sighed, falling into his embrace. She fell on to his chest, kissing him sweetly as he ran his hand up and down her back. "Paperwork to sort through, clinic hours to assign."

House wrapped his arm around her waist, turning and pinning her beneath him. "Put me down for zero," he said, pressing a kiss to her clavicle.

Cuddy laughed, settling her hand on his shoulder. "You owe me eight this week," she said, running her hand up and down his arm.

House groaned. "I thought you had the day off," he complained, looking down at her. Cuddy sighed, an embarrassed look on her face. House eyed her suspiciously.

"Are you telling me that even when you have the day off, you feel the need to go into the hospital? Because if that's the case, you_ do_ need to get to the hospital—and check yourself into the psych ward."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him, shoving his shoulder playfully. "The more I do today the less I have to do Monday morning," she answered.

Cuddy's phone rang, and she sighed as she wiggled out from underneath House. He rolled off of her, watching as she stretched over to the nightstand where she had placed her purse. She dug through her bag and found her blackberry, lifting it to her ear.

She propped herself up on her elbow, balancing her phone between her ear and her shoulder. House began to run a hand up and down her back in a rather distracting manner, pausing at her more sensitive areas.

She gave him a playful look, knowing it would only encourage him.

"Hello?" Cuddy paused, her mouth hanging slightly open as she laid her palm flat on the sheet. "She's at the hospital now? Okay, I'm on my way."

Cuddy ended the call, and turned towards House, who was giving her a confused look.

"Duty calls," she said, giving him an apologetic smile.

"Everything okay?"

Cuddy nodded, shrugging him off. "Fine. One of my patients had a seizure." Cuddy sighed, lifting a hand to her forehead as she mentally went through the lists of symptoms. "I just saw her for a routine check up last month, she was fine."

She got up from the bed, gathering up her belongings. House mimicked her movements, suddenly getting the feeling that sitting there wasn't acceptable course of action.

"Age?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"Young, she's barely over thirty." House held open her jacket for her, and she slipped into it, flipping her hair over the collar. "I'll have to see when I get there."

"Want a consult?"

Cuddy eyed him suspiciously. "Are you offering?"

He shrugged. "What else am I going to do on a Saturday? Besides, I will solve it faster than you will."

"I'm not turning this case into a bet, House," she said dryly.

"That's not what I meant," he argued. Cuddy raised her eyebrows, and House sighed. "The sooner we solve this case, the sooner we can leave the hospital. The sooner we leave the hospital, the sooner we can relocate to an environment that doesn't require either one of us to be wearing pants."

Cuddy paused as she considered his offer. She'd spent the last two minutes going over the list of symptoms that Alexandra had rambled off to her, and so far she'd come up with nothing. Granted, she had yet to take a look at her chart or her blood work, but when a world-renowned diagnostician offers you a consult, you don't exactly say no.

Eventually she nodded in agreement, waiting as House silently dressed.

And on the way out the door, she told herself she was letting him help simply because this was his area of expertise—it had nothing to do with the fact that he had used the term "we".

* * *

"You would keep an extra blazer and a pair of heels in the back of your trunk," said House as they entered the hospital doors.

"It's for emergencies," said Cuddy. "Like this one," she clarified.

"Never know when you might need to stab someone with a three inch heel?"

"Five inch, actually," said Cuddy, giving him a pointed look. "Come on, Alex has her charts."

Cuddy placed her hand on his forearm, leading him over to Alexandra's desk outside of her office. House paused, tilting his head to the side.

"She lets you call her Alex?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes as they reached the assistant's desk. Alexandra swiveled around in her chair and handed Cuddy the chart.

"Her husband brought her in about an hour ago, but no major testing has been done yet," said Alexandra.

Cuddy nodded and Alexandra looked over at House, her eyes darting between the two of them. Her lips curled into a sly smirk, and House narrowed his eyes at her; Cuddy was too busy looking at the file to notice.

"Blood work?" asked Cuddy, looking up from the file. She handed it to House, who began to flip through the pages.

"Should be back in about thirty minutes," said Alexandra. "Nurses are short staffed today, it's a little slow."

"Nurses are always short staffed," muttered Cuddy, pressing her hand to her forehead. "I'm going to go check on her while House gets his team together. If anyone calls with anything that's unrelated to medicine, I'm not here," Cuddy ordered.

Alexandra nodded, and House perked up, closing the file in his hands.

"I have a question," he said. Cuddy turned her head, raising her eyebrows at him. "How come she's allowed to call you Alex?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "House, go get your team together."

House groaned. "Fine. Come get me when the blood tests come back. And you," he said, pointing at Alexandra, "you'll learn to love me one day. They all do eventually."

Cuddy glared at him while Alexandra stifled a laugh.

"House, go. Now," said Cuddy.

House tapped his fingers on the desk in a playful manner before making his way towards the elevator.

Cuddy picked up the file from the desk and handed Alexandra her purse. The assistant took it and placed it under her own desk as Cuddy excused herself.

Cuddy took hurried steps to the exam room, tugging on her blazer as she walked down the hall. A few doctors gave her strange looks, noting the difference in her usual attire.

She simply smiled at them as she continued her walk down the hall.

Cuddy took a deep and calming breath before entering the exam room, attempting to give the family some comfort and downplay the severity of the situation.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, pushing a lock of hair behind her. She gave the husband a warm smile and he simply nodded in response before turning his attention back to his wife—he was clearly very concerned.

"I've been better," answered Maggie, the thirty-two year old mother.

Cuddy walked over to the edge of the bed and picked up another copy of her chart, going over the recent numbers.

"Your heart rate and BP are normal, so for now we're in the clear," said Cuddy as she flipped through the pages, biting down on her lower lip.

"Any idea what caused this?" asked Maggie's husband, Chris.

Cuddy looked up from the chart, glancing back and forth between the two. "We're still waiting on the blood results, so we should have more information soon. But I don't want you to worry, we're going to figure it out. Have you been having any other symptoms lately?"

Maggie shrugged, but her husband immediately stood up form his chair. "She's been having headaches lately," he said, his voice panicked and afraid. "Could that have something to do with it?"

"It's really not a big deal," said Maggie. "They're just headaches. Everybody gets headaches."

"But seizures happen because there is something wrong with your brain, right? I mean, it could be connected," said Chris.

Cuddy nodded her head, extending her arm as she silently told him to relax. "We'll explore all possibilities," she said. "Try not to worry until the test results come back."

Cuddy gave her a reassuring smile and then paused, furrowing her brow as she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. She walked over to the opposite side of the bed, her shoulders falling as she glanced down at the catheter that hung from the bed—there was a distinct redness to the color.

"Is everything okay?" asked Maggie

"No," said Cuddy, sighing. "There is blood in your urine. Your kidneys are starting to shut down."

Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip, and she could feel the woman's husband's eyes on her, but she refused to turn to him—because she had no idea what was wrong with his wife.

* * *

"Thirty-two year old female," said House, throwing down the file on the glass table where his team sat, "sudden onset of seizure."

Thirteen frowned, flipping through the file. "This is Cuddy's patient," she said.

"Excellent observational skills," said House. "But that's not a diagnosis. Moving on."

"There's nothing to diagnose," said Foreman, going over the pages in the file. "The blood work isn't even back yet."

"Cuddy is on her way up with it," said House. "Until then—sudden onset of seizures. Go."

"Could be drugs," said Taub. "History seems clean though, married, mother to a three year old. Doesn't exactly scream druggie."

"Short and emotionally stunted Jew doesn't exactly scream cheater either, but hey, that's just the way the world turns sometimes," mocked House, giving him a fake smile.

Taub narrowed his eyes at House and then turned his attention back to the file, pretending to see something that had caught his eye.

"What about environmental?" asked Kutner. "Some kind of toxic buildup in her system. She's a stay at home mom, she probably spends half her day breathing in cleaning products," he paused, eyeing House suspiciously as his lips curved into a slight smile. "Does Cuddy have something on you? Is that why we're taking this case?"

House groaned, rolling his eyes. "I'm taking care of her cat," he said, tilting his head and scrunching up his face.

"That doesn't explain why you called us in on our day off for a patient that isn't even ours," said Thirteen, frowning at him. "That excuse only makes sense if Cuddy was a doing_ you_ a favor.

"It's a metaphor," said House, sitting up in his chair and laying his cane on the table, "just go with it."

They heard the clicking of heels coming down the hall and they turned towards the door, watching as Cuddy entered. There was a look on her face that suggested something had changed within the past fifteen minutes.

She walked over to House, giving the team a nod as she threw some updated files on the table.

The team exchanged glances before shrugging and reaching for a file.

"Her kidney's are shutting down," said Cuddy, folding her arms across her chest.

"Blood work?" asked House, reaching for a file as well.

Cuddy shook her head. "I haven't gotten a chance to look at it yet," she said. "I came up here when it came back."

"Wait," said Thirteen, flipping a page and sighing, closing her eyes for a moment. "The patient is pregnant."

"She mentioned they were trying again the last time I saw her, but that was a month ago," said Cuddy.

House sighed. "So what causes seizures and kidney failure in a pregnant woman?"

Cuddy paused, folding her arms across her chest. "Chronic hypertension, renal disease, antiphospholipid syndrome," rattled off Cuddy, pressing a finger to her temple, "it could be anything. We should get a fetal workup first."

Thirteen paused, glancing down at the chart. "Her BP was unusually high when she was brought in."

"She'd just had a seizure," said Cuddy.

"Right, but even in severe cases it shouldn't be that high. Could be a symptom."

"Severe preeclampsia fits," said Foreman.

Cuddy closed her eyes, her shoulders falling at his words. She locked eyes with House, whose mouth was hanging slightly open. Cuddy eventually looked away, her eyes falling to the ground.

"Get a urine sample and monitor her BP for the next two hours." House ordered, glancing up from the file. "If it's preeclampsia, she'll have an influx of protein."

Cuddy paused, opening her mouth to add something, but House rolled his eyes before quickly cutting her off. "And do a full fetal workup while you're at it," he said, reading Cuddy's thoughts.

"I should be the one to tell her," said Cuddy, moving away from the table.

"No," said House. Cuddy raised her eyebrows, giving him a pointed look. "They can handle it."

The team paused as they stood up from the table, giving their two bosses questioning looks. Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip, knowing what House was getting at—if it _was_ preeclampsia, then the safest course of action, especially this early in a pregnancy, was termination.

And Cuddy wasn't the person who should have to break that news to someone.

Cuddy sighed before nodding her head towards the door, wordlessly telling his team to go and do the tests.

"There are half a dozen other things it could be," said Cuddy unconvincingly. "Hemolytic-uremic syndrome, or something as simple as a gallbladder. The pregnancy might not even be related," she said.

She sat down in the chair next to him, her eyes pleading with him to tell her that she was right. House looked down at the ground before lifting his eyes back to her.

"Preeclampsia fits best," he said softly.

Cuddy closed her eyes, her shoulders dropping as she nodded her head in agreement.

"I know," she said.

She laid one hand out on the table as she propped her elbow up, letting her chin fall into her palm.

And she almost wished that what he did next didn't happen, because it meant that everything had changed—that their casual affair was slowly turning into the thing that it couldn't, the thing that she had tried so desperately hard to convince herself wasn't even possible, because he was House and she was Cuddy, and they didn't do relationships.

They just didn't.

But she felt his hand cover hers, and she felt herself lacing her fingers through his, and she looked up, because they both knew this wasn't just about the patient anymore.

And the thing she was afraid of most was already happening, because he was running his thumb across her index finger in a way that was making her heart ache more than it had ever ached before, but she didn't have the courage to stop him.

And even if she did, she knew she never would.

* * *

The team had returned roughly two hours later; they hadn't given Maggie or her husband any details, deciding that Cuddy should be the one to tell them when they had a definitive answer.

Which, after monitoring her blood pressure and analyzing the contents of her urine, they'd confirmed their diagnosis of severe preeclampsia.

Cuddy had taken the ponytail holder on her wrist and thrown her hair into a slick ponytail, calming her nerves as the team presented their diagnosis. House sat there silently, eyeing her every move.

Cuddy took a deep breath, refusing to look weak in front of his team. She squared her shoulders, her arms falling to her sides.

"I'll go tell the patient," she said. "Thank you all for your help, you can go."

"Someone is going to have to perform the surgery," said House. Cuddy turned to look at him, raising her eyebrows at him. House got up, rolling his eyes. "You are planning on telling her that termination is the best option, right?"

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him. "Of course I am," she said, irritated by his insinuation. "But I don't need the four of them here for that. You can go too if you want," she added, challenging him.

"Nope," said House, eyeing her right back. "I'll stay."

Foreman folded his arms across his chest, his eyes darting back and forth between House and Cuddy. Thirteen tilted her head to the side, her mouth hanging slightly open while Kutner had a sly grin on his face.

Taub seemed completely disinterested in the situation.

"Class dismissed," said House, shooing out his team. They all shot Cuddy wary looks, and she simply moved her eyes towards the door, silently telling them to leave.

Once they were gone, Cuddy started to walk towards the door; she paused, hearing his footsteps behind her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, furrowing her brow. She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a look. "You don't want to talk to the patient, do you?"

House shook his head. "God no," he answered.

Cuddy eyed him suspiciously, her voice growing stronger with each syllable. House sighed, bringing a finger to his temple—he should have known she would have taken this the wrong way.

"Then what are you doing? Making sure I present her with all the options? Look I know you think I'm not _actually_ a doctor but I do—"

"Cuddy," he said, interrupting her. She sighed, her face softening as she watched him get up from the table. "I was just going to walk with you."

Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip, smiling sheepishly at him as she glanced towards the door. House limped towards her, placing his hand on her lower back as he led her away.

* * *

"Preeclampsia?" asked Maggie, her voice stricken with panic. "But I just found out I was pregnant. And I thought that disease presented after birth?"

House sat in the corner of the room, lightly tapping his cane on the ground. "That's why the prefix is there," he muttered, just loud enough so only Cuddy could hear him.

Cuddy sighed, ignoring him. She placed her hand on Maggie's forearm, her face softening. "In extremely rare cases it can occur in the first twenty weeks," she said.

Chris placed his hand on his face, rubbing it as he took his wife's hand. "And this is all because of the seizure?"

"The seizure was a symptom of the condition. It explains everything. The kidney failure, the high blood pressure, the seizures. Even the headaches."

"And you're sure about the diagnosis? There is nothing else it could be? Because I haven't had another seizure, and the headaches aren't getting any worse—"

"You have preeclampsia," said House, getting up from his chair. "You should terminate the fetus."

"House," growled Cuddy, turning towards him.

"Under normal circumstances we would induce you or perform a C-section," he said. "But the fetus isn't even close to being viable. If you carry this pregnancy to full term, you will die," he said, his voice growing firmer towards the end.

"Baby," said Chris, closing his eyes for a moment. "My wife isn't carrying a fetus. She's carrying our baby."

"Your _baby_ is going to end up killing your wife," he snapped. "Is that what you want?"

Cuddy widened her eyes at him, glaring at him. "As insensitive as it may seem," Cuddy began, "Dr. House is right. Termination is the safest route for you both."

"But termination doesn't save them both," said Chris.

"No," said Cuddy, shaking her head. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the words she was about to say. "But sometimes saving both the mother and child just isn't possible."

Maggie took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "Do you have kids, Dr. Cuddy?"

Cuddy looked over at House, whose eyes were fixed on her. Her eyes darted to the ground as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, sighing before looking back at Maggie.

"No," she answered softly. "I tried, but I was…unsuccessful."

"I'm already a mother," said Maggie, choking back tears. "I can't abandon my daughter in the hopes that it will save this one. No matter how much I wish I could."

"That's not what you would be doing Maggs," Chris pleaded with her, and she sighed, a small smile forming on her lips at the use of the nickname. She gripped his hand, and he took it, holding on for dear life.

"That's exactly what she would be doing!" exclaimed House. Cuddy's eyes flared, and she placed her hand on his shoulder, silently begging him to stop.

"House, stop," she said softly, noting the pained expression in the husband's face.

"No, no," began Maggie, her face softening. "He's right. Schedule the surgery. I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible."

Maggie looked over at her husband, her hand still gripping his. He eventually nodded, and House breathed a sigh of relief, backing away from the bed.

"We'll also have to put you on dialysis to flush out your kidneys," said Cuddy. "I'll schedule the surgery for later this afternoon. I'm so sorry for you loss," she added, the sincerity in her voice clear to everyone in the room.

Maggie and Chris nodded, and Cuddy walked away from them as she headed towards the door. House followed her, wincing as she glared at him once they were out of the patient room.

"You didn't have to be such an ass," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "I mean I know it's practically embedded into your DNA, but I just thought considering the circumstances, you would at least _try_ and be a little more sensitive."

"That guy was a jerk," he muttered.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "It doesn't matter that the baby is only five weeks old, or that the father was on board with putting the life of his mother's child at risk. And it really doesn't matter that termination was the logical and rational choice. They are losing a child, House."

Cuddy closed her eyes, pausing in the middle of the hallway. She took a deep breath, bringing a hand to her temple. She looked down at the ground, her breath hitching as she looked back up at him, her eyes now glossed with tears.

House sighed and shoved his hands into his pocket. He wanted to do something, comfort her in any way he could, but he couldn't, because they were standing in the middle of the hallway—and even if they weren't, even if they were completely alone, he knew there was nothing he could do.

"Nothing will prepare you for that," she said softly. "It's not your fault, I don't expect you to understand. I'm going to schedule the surgery."

And she turned on her heel, leaving him in the middle of the hallway. And that heartache she was experiencing before was back—except this time it was there for a completely different reason.

* * *

He found her in the stairwell. She was sitting there, her hands folded in her lap and her blackberry cast off to the side. It was vibrating, but she didn't seem to notice.

Maggie's surgery was performed over two hours ago, and she was back in her room recovering. Her vitals were strong and her kidneys were starting to improve; for all intents and purposes, the surgery was a success.

"You gonna get that?" he asked, leaning against the doorway.

Cuddy looked up, her face falling slightly. She grabbed her phone and shut it off before placing it back on the ground next to her.

"How'd you know I was here?" she asked, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"It's your secret hideout place that you think nobody knows about," he said, shrugging his shoulders as her sat down next to her. "Plus I have a PI on you."

"Because why limit your stalking to just you?" she joked

"Exactly," said House, nudging her knee playfully. "And don't worry, I'm actually the only person who knows that you come here. Unless you count Wilson. Or that hot nurse who works in the ER."

Cuddy let out a slight laugh, and she sighed, turning her head towards his. "I lost a baby," she said. "That's why I stopped IVF."

"I figured as much," he answered.

"I don't know why I never told you, I mean you went to all that trouble to help with the injections and I just—"

"Yes, staring at your ass twice a day was very difficult for me," he interrupted. "I can't believe you put me through that," he deadpanned.

"You know what I mean," she said. "I guess…I just didn't want you to know that I had failed. I assumed you would just start to think that I was crazy and had finally come to my senses, and that I'd realize I wasn't actually fit to be a mother."

"I never said..."

"You did actually, but that's not the point. The point is that I understand that Maggie made the right decision. She made the only decision, really. But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

House sighed, letting his arm drape across her leg. He tugged on her leg, forcing her to turn and look him in the eye. "If it makes you feel better, I don't think she liked it either."

"I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, you didn't deserve that."

House shrugged his shoulders.

"I kinda did," he answered, his eyes moving towards hers once more.

"Yeah," said Cuddy, staring back, her smile widening. And he leaned in, his lips meeting hers.

She kissed him back, her hand grazing over his cheek. Her thumb lingered, tracing the lines on his face as she parted her lips slightly, giving herself to him.

And she knew she should pull away from him, that they were getting in too deep, but she didn't. Because she also knew that there was nothing that would mask her pain, nothing could make the hurt go away—and if he wanted to comfort her by shoving his hand up her shirt, so be it.

That stairwell held all of her secrets, anyway. One more wouldn't hurt.

* * *

Cuddy returned home hours later than she had originally planned. She'd escaped into her office immediately after their little tryst in the stairwell, and she hadn't seen House since. She assumed he'd gone home, leaving her alone with the endless amount of paperwork she claimed to have.

She trekked up the cobblestone path to her doorway, pausing as she noticed a brown paper package sitting at her front door. She frowned; she didn't remember ordering anything.

She groaned as she picked it up and searched for her keys, unlocking her door with more difficulty than usual.

Cuddy entered her house, turning on one of the lights as she walked in; it was just past seven and starting to get dark. She shivered as she placed the package on her dining room table and walked over to her couch, where she grabbed a blanket that was draped over the top.

She wrapped it around her small figure, her feet shuffling against the hardwood floor as she made her back to her dining room. She grabbed a pair of scissors and tore away at the box, her lips curving into a small smile as she recognized the handwriting on the package.

She smirked, shaking her head as she removed the boxing tape. Inside was a pristine white box with the words _La Perla _scrawled across in black, loopy, script.

Cuddy removed the black bow from the box, her hands finding the tissue paper as she lifted the lid. She pulled out a pair of underwear—if you could even call them that—and a matching bra, smiling to herself as she ran her finger across the lace material.

The bra was a sheer, black and teal lined push up with a lace detail at the cup; the underwear had the same look, with a completely laced back.

She smirked, pulling out her phone and dialing his number.

"Of all the things to give a woman," she said, not allowing him to say anything first.

"I take it you got my present?"

"I did," said Cuddy, placing the lingerie back down on the table. "Although I'm not sure if it's a present for you or a present for me."

"Why can't it be both?"

Cuddy laughed, sitting down at the table and wrapping the blanket around her even tighter.

"Where are you?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "Sounds loud."

"Getting a drink with Wilson. You should come down, the gangs all here."

"You have a gang?" she asked skeptically.

"Well no. I have Wilson. But I see at least four people that you know, and I think my team is wandering around somewhere."

"I don't know," she began, her voice trailing. "I just got home, and it probably isn't a good idea for us to be seen together."

"Because we're co-workers?" he asked, calling her bluff.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"No," she said, stressing the word, "because we're…whatever we are," she answered, refusing to classify their relationship.

"It's just a drink, Cuddy. What else were you going to do? Wrap up in that giant blanket of yours and pretend to enjoy whatever lean cuisine you have waiting for you in your freezer?"

Cuddy sighed, shrugging the blanket off of her and letting it fall to the ground. She looked over at the table, her hand finding the lingerie he had given her. She ran her hand over it, closing her eyes briefly.

She opened her eyes, biting down on her bottom lip as she darted her eyes between the blanket on the ground and the lingerie on her dining room table.

Cuddy stood up, taking the lingerie in her hand as she said:

"Let me change first."

"Atta girl," he answered—she could practically hear him smiling through the phone.

Cuddy balanced the phone between her chin and her shoulder as she made her way to her bedroom, a small smirk on her face as she realized what he was doing.

"You're going to stay on the phone and listen to me change, aren't you?"

"It seems like such a waste to hang up now."

"House?" she asked, pausing at the entryway, her voice growing soft. She gripped the underwear in her hand and bit down on her bottom lip. "Thank you."

She heard him sigh on the other end of the line, and a sad smile formed on her lips because they both knew she was thanking him for more than just the lingerie in her hand.

"You're welcome."

Cuddy smiled, walking over to her bed and throwing the phone down, watching as it bounced on the mattress. She stood as closely as possible, making sure he could hear the _zip_ of her jeans as she pushed them down.

* * *

_Everybody say "Awww"! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Things are beginning to heat up. Let me know your thoughts!_

_-Alison_


	5. Caution

_A/N: While i've never been to a sexual harassment seminar, I'd imagine it would go a little something like this. If I were sitting next to Gregory House, that is._

* * *

House groaned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He drummed his finger on the armchair, rolling his eyes as he looked over at Wilson. He was scrawling away on a legal pad, taking notes on the seminar.

"I can't believe you're making me sit through this," he muttered to Cuddy, who was in the seat next to him, looking just about as bored as he was.

Cuddy sighed, turning her head slightly. "It's mandatory for all hospital employees," she said, giving him a pointed look, "unless you have an emergency patient or clinic duty. Which you have, by the way. You still owe me six hours this week."

"My team is covering the clinic," he said. "Had I known a sexual harassment seminar was the alternative, I would have reconsidered. It's much easier to nap in an empty exam room."

"I sent out a memo last week," Cuddy said, sighing once more. "And keep your voice down, she keeps staring at us."

House looked up towards the front of the auditorium, where a middle-aged woman dressed in average clothing stood, pointing to a screen that hung down directly behind her.

Wilson leaned forward towards them, rolling his eyes. "If anyone needs a sexual harassment seminar, it's the two of you," he said. Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him, leaning back slightly in her seat. "You should at least pretend to pay attention," he suggested, raising his eyebrows at the two of them.

Cuddy went silent, sitting up straight and clearing her throat as quietly as possible. She took the pen that was in her hand and nudged House's arm, flicking her eyes towards the front.

The three of them were seated in the middle rows, but they were close enough to the front to feel the glares they were receiving from the woman the board had hired to give the presentation.

"Many are unaware of the sexual acts they are exhibiting through their behavior," said the woman—she'd given her name earlier, but neither House nor Cuddy could be bothered to pay attention to it. "I'd like to turn your attention to the diagram behind me."

House leaned his head towards Cuddy, giving her a smoldering look as he pulled a lollipop from. "I don't know about you," he whispered, "but I'm fully aware of when I'm exhibiting sexual activity."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and did her best to suppress a laugh as he stuck the lollipop into his mouth.

"Here we have a picture of a stop-light. I'm going to use this to show you the different levels of sexual harassment. First we have green light behavior, which is when two consenting adults engage in any form of contact."

"You see kids," muttered House, "when two people love each other very much—"

"House," whispered Cuddy, a playful grin on her face, "if you don't stop it right now you won't be engaging in any type of contact for a _long _time," she warned, pursing her lips at him.

House turned his head towards Wilson, knocking the pen out of his hand simply because he could. "I think she's gonna cut my balls off," said House.

Wilson rolled his eyes and bent down, picking up the pen House had thrown on the floor.

"Not if I beat her to it," he muttered.

House smirked and faced forward once again, this time sneaking his hand over to Cuddy's knee; she was wearing a _very_ fitted pencil skirt that hit right above her knee, leaving a hint of skin exposed.

He started to knead his thumb into her skin when she felt her cover his hand with her own, forcibly removing him from her.

"It's not nearly dark enough in here for that," she chastised, giving him a glare.

"Sorry," he said, " I thought that would be considered green light behavior." He shrugged his shoulders, giving her a grin. "Now if you want me to turn the lights down, I could go find—"

"House," she interrupted, staring straight ahead, "just sit there quietly for the next fifteen minutes.

He groaned and turned his attention back to the instructor.

"Yellow light behavior is slightly different," the instructor continued, pointing to the picture of the stoplight behind her—House rolled his eyes at her lack of originality. "Yellow light behavior occurs when one party is perhaps under the impression that attention is desired, and he or she starts to blur the lines between professional and personal. Or, perhaps they are behaving in a manner that they may deem as friendly or polite, but some consider to be inappropriate."

"Do you consider my behavior to be inappropriate?" he asked, nudging Cuddy's knee with his own.

Cuddy pursed her lips, taking a deep breath. "At this exact moment, yes," she answered, irritated.

"You're going to get us in trouble," Wilson hissed.

House rolled his eyes, a sly grin on his face as he shot his hand up in the air, waving it obnoxiously.

"I see we have a question in the middle?" asked the woman, excited about the participation.

"It's not the question and answer portion, " Cuddy blurted out, her face growing red as all heads turned to her; she really should have sat up front, far away from _him_. But he'd cornered her on the way in, and she of course, caved to his pleas.

"That's quite alright," she answered. "How can I help you Dr…?"

"House," he said, grinning up at her. "I have a question regarding the appropriateness of employee tasks. And this is strictly hypothetical of course, but say I were to ask my employees to bring me the…under garments one of our colleagues."

The woman furrowed her brow, her mouth hanging open in slight shock. Cuddy sat up, her eyes darting to the ground as she rubbed her temple—at least he didn't come right out and say _boss. _

"What on earth would possess you to do such a thing?" she asked, flabbergasted by his request.

House paused, tilting his head to the side. "No reason," he said. "Like I said, this is strictly hypothetical. As I was saying, what if the…colleague willing gave them up in order to gain some type of leverage? Would that be considered green light behavior? Because technically, it's between two consenting adults, as you so eloquently put—"

"Okay," said the instructor, cutting him off. "I'm actually glad Dr. House brought that somewhat unique topic into the discussion, because it serves as an excellent example as to what we call Red Light Behavior."

"Red light," House mused, whispering at Cuddy, "that's bad right?"

Cuddy simply glared at him.

"Red light behavior occurs when a sexual comment or act is perpetrated onto an unwilling party, and in most cases, will result in firing. In severe cases, the threat of a lawsuit is possible. Discussing the under garments of a colleague is without a doubt, Red Light Behavior. I encourage you all to further educate yourselves by taking a look at our website. And make sure to grab a pamphlet on you way out!"

Slowly people began to trickle out of the auditorium, and House and Cuddy stood up, ignoring the glares they were getting from Wilson.

"I am never sitting next to you in one of these things ever again," she murmured.

House placed his hand on her back, pretending to lead her out of the crowded auditorium. He inched closer towards her, his hand tugging at the material of her black blazer.

"You couldn't stay away from me if you tried," he whispered.

Cuddy paused giving him a glare, refusing to acknowledge his statement—mainly because she knew he was right.

* * *

In the hours that followed, Cuddy had gotten approximately seven pages from House; three of which contained the word "Emergency". But she knew he didn't have a patient who was in critical condition, and Wilson hadn't come to her yet, so it couldn't be a _real_ emergency.

So she devised a simple, yet extremely effective plan: ignore him.

That plan quickly failed when he started sending emergency pages to her assistant.

"Oh I'm sorry," she said, walking into the exam room he had holed himself away in, "I got a few pages that said this was an emergency. My mistake, Exam Room Two must be where the roof is collapsing."

"Seven," he corrected, casting his magazine to the side, "I sent you seven pages. And you ignored them all. That is just so hurtful."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, walking towards him. "I do have a hospital to run," she said. House moved his legs to the side, making a spot for her to sit down. She begrudgingly obliged to his subtle hint.

Cuddy shifted, her eyes darting to the door. "I love that you locked that," he said, nodding his head towards the door.

Cuddy scoffed, her palm falling on to the examination table on the opposite side of his legs. "That's because I don't trust you," she said.

"No," said House, shaking his head and giving her a sly grin, "you don't trust yourself around me." He sat up, now inches away from her face. "Very big difference."

Cuddy cleared her throat, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Is there something you needed, Dr. House?" she asked, her voice firm with the slightest hint of seduction.

He cursed her inwardly. God, she was good.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" she asked, not allowing him to answer. She pursed her lips, cocking her head to the side and furrowing her brow. "Why don't you have a case?"

He shrugged. "Told my team to go find me one. Haven't heard from them for three hours."

Cuddy scoffed, relaxing her shoulders a bit. "Maybe you should have sent _them_ the seven emergency pages."

"They wouldn't have come like you do," he said.

"You mean they would have faked it?" she fired back, lying through her teeth as she tried to suppress a grin.

House glared at her and sat up daring her to try and keep a straight face.

"I believe that comment falls under the realm of yellow light behavior," he said, eyeing her.

Cuddy tossed her hair over her shoulder, watching as he inched closer to her. "You're the one who started this conversation," she said.

House ran his hand up her thigh, gripping her waist and slowly moving upward, nipping at the skin underneath the silky green top she wore under her blazer.

"Yellow light means consenting, right? Throw caution to the wind and what not?" he asked, pausing at the underwire of her bra.

Cuddy closed her eyes and crossed her ankles, trying to keep from moaning out in pleasure—she suddenly couldn't remember the reason she'd cut him off at work. His thumb was grazing across her bra when she heard a whiz of nurses run by the locked exam room, and Cuddy sighed, because the very reason was standing fifty feet away from them, their only protection a locked door.

"House," she warned, biting down on her bottom lip, "we can't."

His hand slipped under her bra, moving to her back and pulling her towards him. She fell on his chest, bracing herself by grabbing on to the collar of his shirt. She pulled him up to meet her lips, kissing him and cursing herself for not immediately regretting it.

"I think this is classified as red light behavior," she murmured against his lips, shifting so that she lay sideways, their legs intertwining as she shifted underneath him.

House hurriedly unbuttoned her blazer, lifting her up slightly to push it off of her shoulders.

"Your shirt is green," he said, running his hand up and down her side before bringing it to her face and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. He pressed his lips to hers, her lips parting almost immediately. Her hand moved to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer towards her. "Green means go, right?" he asked, pulling away for a slight moment.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows, giving him a smirk as she hooked her thumb into one of the loopholes on his jeans.

"It certainly doesn't mean stop."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Cuddy walked out of the exam room, her shirt pristinely tucked into her skirt and her jacket perfectly buttoned—she'd worn her hair in loose curls that day, and despite the situation she'd found herself in for the last fifteen minutes, it was holding together rather nicely. She told herself it was her body's way of telling her to let loose a little, consequences be damned.

And who was she to fight nature?

She hadn't let it get too out of control though—because they _did_ have an agreement, and she wasn't one to back out of those. But a fifteen-minute make out session coupled with some not-so-innocent touching didn't necessarily count as sex. Loopholes were invented for a reason, after all.

Cuddy spotted Alexandra walking towards her, her fingers typing away at her iPhone—she'd tried to get Cuddy to switch out her blackberry, claiming it was much faster and more user friendly, but Cuddy refrained, considering she could barely figure out how to turn it on.

Cuddy quickly smoothed down her skirt once more, clearing her throat before Alexandra caught up to her. She walked towards her assistant, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she walked.

Alexandra looked up, tucking her phone into the pocket of her dress as she reached Cuddy.

"There is something going on up in the pharmacy," said Alexandra, greeting her boss. "Archibald seemed kind of spooked on the phone, so it was hard to get a clear idea of what was wrong."

"Great," muttered Cuddy. She sighed, lifting a hand to her temple and rubbing it therapeutically. "What is so difficult about counting?"

Alexandra let out a slight laugh, giving her a weak smile. "It sounded like they were missing a shipment of something. Like I said, Archibald was freaking out on the phone."

Cuddy paused, closing her eyes for a brief moment, her shoulders dropping as a sudden wave of realization washed over her. "It wasn't Vicodin, was it?" she asked, hating herself—and him, for making her think the worst.

"No," said Alexandra, shaking her head, "I think it was diazepam." She gave her boss a comforting smile, and Cuddy sighed, surprising herself with the relief that was rushing through her bones.

"Either way," continued Alexandra, handing her clipboard to Cuddy, "this needs your signature." Cuddy nodded and quickly sprawled her name across the sheet, her eyes barely glossing over it.

"Is that all?" Cuddy asked, her eyes barely lifting from her blackberry—she'd momentarily forgotten how helpless some of her employees were as she skimmed over an email regarding parking.

Alexandra gave Cuddy a quizzical look, her eyes darting to the exam room down the hall. House had just walked out of it, his hair slightly disheveled.

She smirked before reaching into the pocket of her dress, pulling out a compact mirror. "Here," she said quietly, handing it to Cuddy, "your lipstick is smeared just a bit."

Cuddy pursed her lips, her breath catching in her throat for just a moment as she took the handheld from her assistant. "You keep everything in those pockets?" she asked, glossing over the insinuation as she flipped open the compact.

"Oh yeah," said Alexandra, a slight hint of laughter to her voice, "if the apocalypse happens I'm set."

A smile swept across Cuddy's lips as she fixed the slightly smudged appearance of her lips, raising her eyebrows at Alexandra in a questioning manner. Alexandra nodded in confirmation and Cuddy handed her the compact, smirking as she stuffed it back into her pocket.

Cuddy took her assistant by the elbow, gently bringing her along as she walked down the hall.

"Are people talking?" she asked, lowering her voice.

Alexandra sighed, furrowing her brow as they walked. "People are always talking about the two of you. Even before I knew that anything was going on," she answered diplomatically.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"People are always talking about House," she said, sighing as they reached the elevator. "I never thought they would be talking about me in that capacity."

"From what I can tell, it's just harmless gossip," Alexandra said, shrugging her shoulders. "I had no idea the Pediatric surgeons were so chatty. They quickly moved on to a new topic of discussion."

"They sure are a treat, aren't they?" muttered Cuddy, pressing the elevator button once more.

The elevator finally pinged, and Cuddy, suddenly very aware of her appearance, readjusted her skirt once more.

"Don't worry," said Alexandra, noting her nervous state, "I'll make sure to keep the dogs away."

"I appreciate that," Cuddy answered, giving her a weak smile as she stepped on to the elevator.

The door to the elevator closed and Cuddy sighed, readjusting her skirt once more as she cursed herself for letting things get out of hand—because there was nothing she could do to stop it anymore.

* * *

Kutner, Taub, and Thirteen sat down in the cafeteria, their trays slamming against the table as they joined Cameron, Chase, and Foreman for lunch.

"House has been acting weird lately," Taub announced, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Thirteen rolled her eyes. "House is always acting weird. It would be weird if he was acting normal."

Chase and Cameron exchanged irritated glances, turning to Foreman for help. Foreman simply scoffed, shaking his head as he popped a fry into his mouth.

"We get away from House's team," Chase said, turning to Cameron, "yet here they are, asking for advice."

"I'm not getting involved in House's affairs," said Cameron, addressing House's semi-new fellows.

"You think he's having an affair?" asked Kutner, grinning at the mere thought.

Cameron glared at him as she forked through her salad. "I didn't say that. Look, House being in a good mood isn't cause for concern. Celebration maybe, but nothing else."

Chase nodded his head.

"She's right. Getting involved with House never ends well. And who knows, he could be doing this just to screw with you."

The three of them paused, tilting their heads to the side as they mulled over the statement.

"And it looks like it's working," Chase stated.

Foreman nodded his head as she sat up straighter, pushing his plate in front of him. "Would anyone care to discuss the patient?"

"Is it just me or has that become his new catchphrase?" asked Taub, a smirk on his face as he turned his head towards everyone else. "Do you think we should get t-shirts made?"

"Patient is stable and is scheduled for surgery later this afternoon," answered Thirteen. She paused, tilting her head to the side. "He's been spending a lot of time with Cuddy lately."

"No way," said Foreman definitively, shaking his head in protest.

"I thought you weren't indulging us?" Thirteen raised her eyebrows at Foreman, receiving a pointed glare from him.

"I'm not," he argued, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms across his chest, "I'm simply shooting down your ridiculous theories."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kutner spotted a limping figure slide into a booth across from Wilson. He watched as House stole a fry from Wilson's plate and popped it into his mouth, his eyes glancing over Wilson's shoulder and towards the door to the clinic every so often.

Kutner watched as a small smile escaped his lips when he saw Cuddy leaning against the desk outside the clinic, her eyes focused on the patient file in front of her.

"Doesn't look too ridiculous to me."

* * *

She avoided him for the rest of the day. After solving the crisis up in the pharmacy—which wasn't actually a crisis, merely a case of unfortunate record keeping—she'd holed herself away in her office, immersing herself in paper work.

She'd ventured out to the clinic once, and she could feel his eyes on her as he sat in the cafeteria with Wilson, but she didn't dare make eye contact.

They were getting to a dangerous point.

She'd convinced herself that it was impossible to fall for him—a rationalization for her actions, no doubt. He really was starting to rub off on her.

Cuddy ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach as she walked down the aisle of the grocery store, placing random things in her basket. Shopping with a cart was simply depressing, because it rarely ever reached full capacity; a full basket brought her a strange sense of security.

She didn't even want to hear what he would say about _that. _

Cuddy reached up on her tiptoes—the nonexistent heel to the riding boots that were tucked into her jeans were throwing her for a loop—and grabbed a box of cereal from the top shelf. She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as she reached for the box of Special K with the chocolate drizzles, deciding she deserved a little treat.

She felt the heat of his body up against her, and she closed her eyes briefly, a sly grin appearing on her face.

"You following me now?" she asked, her back still turned.

Cuddy whipped around, her hair tossing over her shoulder as she placed the box of cereal in her basket.

House smiled at her, shrugging his shoulders in an effort to appear completely innocent.

"How'd you know it was me?"

Cuddy shrugged, raising her eyebrows at him. "Felt your cane pressed up against my back," she said, giving him a pointed look.

"I left my cane in the car," he fired back. He took small steps towards her, and Cuddy immediately recoiled, her back colliding with the shelf behind her as she stepped backwards.

His hand went to her waist, the feeling of his hand a comforting juxtaposition to the boxed goods that were slightly rubbing against her shirt.

"Oh," she said, her eyes dancing towards him, "must have been something else then," she whispered.

House smirked, tilting his head to the side. He leaned his head in towards her, his hand sneaking under the black winter vest she was wearing as he gripped the loose fitting cream-colored sweater she wore underneath.

Cuddy instinctively darted her head to the side, rebuffing his advances. Her eyes met his in a smoldering glance, and she bit down on her bottom lip before covering his hand with hers and removing it from her waist.

"Again with the red light behavior," she warned jokingly.

"We're not at the hospital," he said.

Cuddy scoffed.

"No, but we _are_ in a grocery store. People are on the next aisle."

"I'm sure they're all middle aged soccer moms who are dying for a good show," argued House, grinning at her. "Who are we to deny them of that pleasure?"

"I'm sure they'll manage," Cuddy said dryly, wriggling out of his embrace. She ignored the look of defeat on his face, and let her hand linger on his forearm for just a moment.

She didn't object when he took her hand in his.

"What are you really doing here?" Cuddy asked, turning her head towards him as they walked down the aisle.

"Two for one sale on cocoa puffs," he said, darting his eyes towards her, "I go cuckoo for those delicious little balls of artificial chocolatey goodness."

Cuddy shook her head, an amused look on her face.

"Got plans tonight?" she asked, releasing her hand from his as she stopped at the end of the aisle.

Cuddy once again reached for something on the top shelf, and House smirked, watching her struggle. He limped over to her, placing his hand on her lower back as he towered over her, grabbing the box of rice she couldn't quite reach.

She turned her head, smiling appreciatively at him, her eyes gravitating to the flexed muscle of his bicep—she had to physically restrain herself from letting her head fall to his chest.

"You offering?" House asked, throwing the box of rice into her basket, "Because you're a lot cheaper than a hooker."

Cuddy swatted his arm, rolling her eyes at him. "I have my Netflix queue waiting for me," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "But I could be persuaded to have some company. Especially if said company was to show off his culinary skills."

Cuddy smiled widely at him, her hand playfully tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

"I'll have to cancel my hooker appointment," he said, pretending to mull over her offer. Cuddy rolled her eyes. "But that's easily done. And you have to let me pick the movie."

"So many demands," she joked, pulling him along with her. She looped her arm through his, watching as he inspected the contents of her grocery basket.

"Is any of this even edible?" he asked, poking through it with his free hand.

Cuddy swatted him away, feigning offense.

"Not all of us live off cheeseburgers and french fries."

"You forgot reubens," he said. "But no pickles. You can have my pickle, if you catch my drift."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, nudging him in the side with her elbow. She unhooked her arm from his and he latched on to the down vest she was wearing. Cuddy turned, giving him a look as he pulled her back.

"Interesting choice of attire you got here," he said, nodding at her.

"It's a vest," she answered, furrowing her brow at him. "There is no deep-rooted psychological issue behind me putting on a vest."

House scoffed, releasing his grip on her. "Sure there is," he said, watching as she self-consciously crossed her arms over her chest, "means that you thought it wasn't cold enough for a coat, but it was too cold to wear absolutely nothing. You're stuck in the middle."

Cuddy paused, the subtle insinuation of his words sinking in. They both knew their relationship was no longer the casual affair they had intended it to be, but neither were ready to fully admit their feelings to each other. They were, as he said, stuck in the middle.

"Stuck in the middle of what, exactly?" she asked, encouraging him to continue with his extended metaphor.

House shrugged. "On deciding if things are getting too hot or not."

Cuddy sighed, lifting a hand to her temple and rubbing it gently.

"House…" she began, her voice trailing, watching as his eyes fixed on her. She gave him a weak smile, her shoulder dropping.

She was about to continue when she heard the familiar sound of an Australian accent. She turned her head and immediately stepped away from House as she saw Chase and Cameron approaching them.

House cleared his throat.

"Since when do you two grocery shop together?" Chase asked, giving them pointed looks.

Cameron darted her eyes back and forth between the pair, watching as Cuddy tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and stood up straight, squaring her shoulders towards them.

"Since when do you_ grocery shop_?" Cameron added, raising her eyebrows at House as she noticed Cuddy's defensive state.

"We ran into each other at the produce section," House began mockingly. "It was so cute, actually. She came up to me with two melons in her hands and I asked if I knew how to tell which one was ripe. I said all you have to do is touch—"

Cuddy placed her hand on his shoulder, interrupting him with her slight touch.

"Merely a coincidence," she said, negating his somewhat offensive joke.

House groaned, leaning towards her as he loudly whispered, "They were totally buying the melon story."

"No we weren't," said Cameron, shaking her head.

House watched as Cuddy pretended to search for something in her grocery basket, smirking to himself—she was clearly uncomfortable by the situation. So he did the thing that felt most natural to him; he decided to make it even _more_ uncomfortable.

"So, you two love birds shacking up together? You're shopping with a cart instead of a basket, which means you're buying enough food for more than one person."

Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes glossing over to the cart that was wedged between Chase and Cameron.

"I don't see how that's relevant," Cameron answered, eyeing him quizzically.

"Relevance is overrated," House quipped, smirking to himself as he saw Cuddy roll her eyes. "It's my new approach to life."

"I highly doubt that," Chase answered.

Cuddy looked up form her basket, deciding that she'd had enough of this semi-awkward conversation.

"I should really be going," she said, smiling apologetically at her employees. She went to place her hand on House's forearm but quickly recoiled, remembering who they were standing in front of her.

Cuddy nodded at Chase and Cameron and then slowly began to walk away, keeping her eyes fixed in front of her, willing herself not to turn around to see if House was following her.

"I should go too," said House, shrugging his shoulders. "Make sure her melons are ripe and everything."

House limped away, leaving Chase and Cameron slightly confused.

Chase let out a slight laugh and placed his hand on Cameron's lower back, smirking to himself.

"Maybe House's team was on to something."

* * *

Cuddy sighed contently, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder as a movie that she was barely paying attention to played in the background. Her hand was placed on the center of his chest, her fingers tracing circles on his wrinkled pink button-up every so often.

After a slightly covert exit from the grocery store, they'd met at her house. He cooked some dish that she could barely even pronounce, let alone decipher the specific ingredients.

His hand was draped over the top of her couch, and every once in a while he would casually let it slip into her hair, or on her shoulder, or to the base of her neck

She looked up at him for a brief moment, her eyes quickly darting away, focusing instead on the loose thread that was hanging off of one of the buttons to his shirt.

"House," she murmured quietly, refusing to look up at him. "I think we need to talk."

House sighed before finding the remote that had fallen between them when they had collapsed on to the couch earlier. He clicked off the television, turning his head to Cuddy's curled up form.

"What did you do that for?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

House rolled his eyes.

"Because it sounds like we're about to have the talk," he answered.

"Not _the_ talk," said Cuddy, shaking her head as a quizzical look formed on her face. "Just a talk."

"Different article, same idea."

Cuddy looked up at him earnestly, shifting slightly in her seat. She wasn't expecting him to avoid the issue completely, but simple compliance wasn't anticipated either; he was predictably unpredictable, an enigma laced with unanswerable questions and tied together with vague promises.

It was infuriating to the point where it was almost captivating.

_Almost. _

"I don't want to hide this anymore," she said bluntly. She dropped her hand from his chest, meeting his eyes for the first time.

They were guarded as always, but she caught a subtle glimpse of relief and was once again over come by the unpredictability of Gregory House.

Because a small part of her thought he would instantaneously bolt from her couch and never return.

"Your call," he said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders. "It's been your call from the beginning."

"I'm not saying we announce it to the entire world," she argued, looking past the fact that he was essentially agreeing with her. "I just don't think we should have to tip toe around people. Half the hospital thinks we're sleeping together, anyway."

House furrowed his brow.

"That's because we are," he stated.

"I know that, and you know that, and Wilson knows that, but _they_ don't necessarily know that!" Cuddy sat up straight, narrowing her eyes and hugging her knee to her body. "Do people have no respect for personal boundaries? It has absolutely nothing to do with them."

House shrugged his shoulders. "I force my employees to break into people's homes," he said, smiling as a slight smirk crossed her lips, "I'm not exactly the person you should be talking to about personal boundaries."

Cuddy hugged her knee closer to her body, taking a deep breath before lifting her eyes to him. She searched his face for a sign of something, anything, that would remotely tell her what he was thinking—about her, about them, about _anything_.

But she came up with nothing, and in a moment of weakness—or maybe it was strength, she wasn't quite sure—she decided to lay it all on the table.

"I'm just not sure how much longer I can keep pretending that this is just sex," she said.

He was silent. Cuddy searched his gaze once again, feeling like her heart was going to burst out of her chest as he stared blankly ahead, his gaze fixed on her. Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes briefly, preparing herself for the wounds that his silence was undoubtedly going to inflict.

Her eyes darted to the coffee table in front of her, where their plates from dinner had been haphazardly left. She fiddled her thumbs in her lap before moving her hand to clear the plates away—it would be a poor distraction, but a distraction, nonetheless.

He grabbed her arm and gently pulled her towards him. She looked over at him, the rims of her grey eyes brimming with the threat of tears.

He pulled her back to the couch, leaning his head towards her.

"Green light?" he asked, his lips inches away from hers.

A feeling of relief washed over her, and a tear trickled down her face but she did nothing to stop it.

"Green light," she murmured, tilting her head towards him.

She had about a thousand thoughts running through her mind, but she didn't dare voice them. Instead, she moved her hand to his cheek, caressing it gently. And before she could say anything, he pressed his lips to hers, the two of them moaning in response.

And she smiled into the kiss, because a wordless answer was still an answer.

* * *

_Always the suspicious on, aren't you Chase? Let me know your thoughts!_

_-Alison_


	6. Interruptions

_A/N: I hope all who celebrated had a lovely Easter! Have some Huddy cuteness to go along with your chocolate-I'm fairly certain this chapter won't disappoint ;)_

* * *

A barely touched glass of wine sat next to her as she typed away on her computer, her eyes focused solely on the screen in front of her. She could feel him staring at her, but she simply ignored him, biting down on her bottom lip to serve as a distraction.

Cuddy smirked when she heard him sigh from across the room.

Her feet were propped up on his coffee table as she balanced her Macbook on the space below her bent knees. Work had been a nightmare that day, and she desperately needed to catch up on some of these emails if she had _any_ hopes of getting anything done the next day.

But she also _really_ needed to have sex—so she sat on his couch, typing away and trying to ignore the irritated looks he was giving her.

Prioritization was key, after all.

Finally, bored from the article he was reading and finding nothing on television that would hold his interest for more than approximately seven minutes, House spoke up.

"I thought that point of leaving work was to _actually_ leave work?"

House got up from the chair he was sitting in and made his way over to the couch, plopping down next to her. Cuddy sighed as she felt the cushions deepen, but her eyes didn't stray from the screen.

"I brought you home didn't I?" she asked, typing away as a smug grin washed over her face.

"We're not at your home, we're at_ my_ home," he answered.

"Semantics," she muttered as she skimmed over yet _another_ email.

"And you're ignoring me," he quipped. "You won't even look me in the eye. Which can only suggest that you know that if you look away, you'll get distracted. Which begs the question of why you even came over in the first place."

He worked his hand up her thigh, giving her his undivided attention as he made futile attempts to distract her. She continued to type.

"Could it be my irresistibly charming good looks that only improve when you factor in my bad-boy image?"

He rested his hand on her knee, pausing before slowly inching it upwards.

"Yes," said Cuddy dryly, "your cane is downright terrifying."

"Please tell me that was a metaphor," he muttered, his voice laced with sexual innuendo.

He locked his eyes on her.

Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip with more force than usual, willing herself not to give in to his touch. She was still wearing her work clothes, and while her heels had been cast off to the side, her gray pencil skirt remained intact, giving her very little movement.

Her breath hitched when she felt him push the material of her skirt up.

Reluctantly, she covered his hand in hers and rebuffed his advancement. She patted his hand apologetically and moved it off of her lap, letting it rest on the leather cushion next to her.

"Shouldn't you be cooking?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows at him.

She stole a glance at him for just a moment before returning back to her computer. Cuddy shook her head when she noticed the disappointed—and in some respects, pitiful—look on his face.

She couldn't help but smile.

House sighed and leaned back into the couch, giving up on his advances. "It needs to sit for forty five minutes," he said. "I think I told you that, but since you've been ignoring me since the minute you got here it's understandable why you would have forgotten."

Cuddy scoffed, knowing good and well that he had _not_ told her that.

"Sorry," she quipped in a voice that was anything but apologetic. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip, sighing contently as it ran down her throat. "I figured staring at me while I worked was better than staring at absolutely nothing."

"Staring at you_ naked_ is better than staring at nothing," he fired back, turning his head towards her. "Staring at you and not being able to take your clothes off is just mean."

Cuddy shook her head as she finished typing up one last email. She exited out of her email and shut down her laptop, reaching forward to place it on the coffee table. Cuddy tucked her legs underneath her, one hand draped across her leg while the other went to his shoulder.

She tilted her head to the side as she spoke.

"I just love it when you objectify my body," she said, tossing her hair behind shoulder.

"I'm glad," he answered, his hand sneaking dangerously towards her. He kneaded at the skin that was left exposed from her skirt, running his hand up and down her smooth, silky skin. "How awkward would it be if you got offended by my comments that are _clearly_ signs of the utmost affection?"

Cuddy shrugged her shoulders, her eyes dancing towards him. "We wouldn't have anything left to talk about."

House smirked, inching his way towards her. She moved her hand from his shoulder to his chest, gripping on to the black band t-shirt that he wore underneath his ceremoniously wrinkled button-down shirt, and pulled him towards her.

"Talking is overrated," he whispered, his lips inches away from hers.

She smiled into the kiss, relaxing for the first time since she woke up that morning. Her hand ran up his chest to the nape of his neck, tugging at the loose strands of his hair. She parted her lips slightly and he shifted next to her, his hand gripping her waist as she moved one leg underneath him. The other bent in a way that drove him _crazy_, her bare leg rubbing up against the denim material of his jeans.

Then her phone rang.

Cuddy groaned into the kiss, pausing her movements as if she were contemplating on what to do. She pulled her lips away from his, her head falling to the crook of his shoulder.

She closed her eyes in frustration.

"Ignore it," House murmured into her ear. She lifted her head up from his shoulder, wincing at the shrill sound of her cell phone.

"I can't," she said, sighing. "It's probably important."

"I can think of about two things that are more important than this," said House, gesturing to the two of them. He furrowed his brow as he continued. "Both of which involve us not wearing any clothes."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and let out a slight laugh as she wriggled out of his embrace and reached for her phone.

She smoothed down her skirt and slightly fluffed her hair, tucking a lock behind her ear as she cleared her throat and effortlessly answered her phone.

"Hello?" House draped his hand across her now crossed legs, tapping them occasionally. Cuddy swatted his arm away, giving him a playful grin. But she quickly gripped his arm, her shoulders falling as she listened intently to what was being said on the other end of the phone. "He did_ what_? Okay, okay. I'm on my way. Ten minutes."

Cuddy sighed as she angrily threw her phone into her purse.

"A fight broke out outside one of the surgical rooms," she explained, pressing her thumb to her temple in frustration, "somehow or another Chase ended up getting punched in the face."

House furrowed his brow and tried to suppress the grin that was undoubtedly forming.

"Sounds like an HR problem," he said, urging her back to the couch.

"If I thought HR could handle it, I would let them," she answered cooly, a defeated look washing over her face. She sighed, running a hand through her hair and giving him a sad smile. "Trust me, this is not how I want to spend the rest of the night. I'll be gone two hours, tops."

Cuddy stood up from the couch and smoothed her skirt down even more. She swung her bag over her shoulder and slipped back into her shoes, increasing her height by about four inches.

"Food will be cold by then," said House, his eyes flicking towards the kitchen.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," said Cuddy, leaning in to give him a quick kiss. She pulled away, her hand resting on his shoulder as her voice fell to a husky whisper. "When I get back maybe you can tell me about that _other_ thing that involves us and no clothing."

* * *

Cuddy sighed, shaking her head as she placed a bandage on Chase's forehead. Somehow, he'd ended up with a fairly deep cut right above his eyebrow.

"Didn't you go home hours ago?" he asked, fidgeting slightly at her touch.

"That's the thing about being Dean of Medicine," she said, pursing her lips as she rubbed her finger over the bandage, smoothing it down, "they tend to call you when fights break out in front of the OR."

Once Cuddy had arrived to the hospital, she'd separated Chase and the other doctors, leading Chase into an empty exam room as she noticed the cut aghast his forehead.

"Want to tell me why you haven't changed clothes yet?" he asked, noting her professional attire from earlier in the day.

Cuddy pursed her lips once more, narrowing her eyes at him. "Not really," she answered. "Want to tell me why you punched Doctor Perkins in the face?"

Chase shook his head, smiling slyly at her. "Not really."

"That's the _other_ thing about being Dean of Medicine," she said sarcastically, folding her arms across her chest. "When I ask you a question you're not allowed to say no. Speak."

Chase sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You should really talk to Perkins. I was merely an innocent bystander."

Cuddy scoffed.

"Innocent bystanders don't walk away from fights with open wounds," she retorted.

Chase sighed in discontent.

"Perkins and Jones were arguing about who needed the surgery slot more, and it started to get a little heated, so I walked over there. Next thing I know they're shoving each other and I end up with a black eye."

"Just like that, huh?" she asked skeptically, barely buying a word he was saying.

For all she knew, the root of the altercation was somehow connected to Chase's infamous betting system. She began to wonder what the rumor was this week, and then suddenly darted her eyes to the ground because for all she knew, it was about _her. _Or worse—_them. _

"Just like that," he answered methodically.

"Right, well as little faith as I have in what I'm sure was a last minute—though very well thought out—plan between the three of you, I don't see the point in holding a disciplinary hearing. Mainly because I don't have the time or the energy to sit in front of my employers while three of my _employees_ lie straight to my face."

Chase darted his eyes to the floor and moved his hand to the bandage across his forehead, suddenly very interested in Cuddy's handiwork.

"Instead, I'm doubling your clinic hours for the next month," she said. Chase looked up form the ground and nodded at her. Cuddy leaned forward, her voice lowering. "And the next time you have a bet that even _remotely_ revolves around me, you have to cut me in for twenty percent."

Chase's eyes widened as she leaned back, sitting up straight with a wicked grin on her face.

"Fair enough," he said, shrugging his shoulders, an amused look on his face. He paused for a moment, as if he were debating on whether he should continue or not.

Chase took a deep breath. "You know when Cameron and I first started seeing each other, I used to keep a spare change of clothes in my locker. Work related, and non."

Cuddy frowned at him, catching on to his not so subtle hint.

"How very practical of you," she answered diplomatically.

"Just thought it might be a good idea to pass on my wisdom to those who are perhaps wandering into uncharted waters."

Chase looked down at Cuddy, who was now fidgeting with the watch on her wrist, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes gave nothing away, and she sat there stoically, his words seemingly having no affect on her.

But she didn't negate his claims, and when she bit down on her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows, Chase continued.

"Look, I know you're my boss, and I'm probably the _last_ person you want to be discussing this with, but I do have some experience in this area. Cameron and I started off as just sex—"

Cuddy rolled her eyes before interrupting him.

"I don't care to know about the intricate details of your and Dr. Cameron's relationship. And I know what you're getting at, so I'm going to save you the trouble. I know what I'm doing," she said. "House and I are—"

"You're what?" Chase asked, raising his eyebrows at her. And suddenly Cuddy was grateful for the interruption, because she realized she had absolutely _no_ idea what she was about to say.

"Friends with benefits" he suggested offhandedly, "dating?" he added. "Whatever relationship the two of you have is between the two of you, but you need to establish a certain set of rules. Otherwise one of you is going to end up disappointed. And I have a feeling it's not going to be him."

"It's hard to be disappointed when you have very little expectations," she answered coolly, narrowing her eyes at Chase as she folded her arms across her chest.

She was sick of everyone treating her like this was some giant cosmic mistake; like it was going to come back and bit her in the ass, hard—and when it was all said and done, she was the only one who was going to be feeling the bitter pain of it all.

And she refused to believe that, because that meant believing that the feelings she was having were one-sided—and that was a mindset she simply couldn't afford to have.

"If you want more, you're going to have to ask for it. House is all for breaking the rules and risking everything, but he's also one for games—and he isn't going to be the first one to break in this one. You should realize that before it gets too deep."

"Is that how you ended up reminding Cameron that you liked her every Tuesday?" she deadpanned. Chase smirked and gave her a questioning look. "I know things," she answered, shrugging her shoulders.

Chase chuckled lightly and hopped off of the exam table, gathering up his jacket from the stool. He slipped it on and Cuddy stood up, smoothing down her skirt for what felt like the millionth time that night.

"Something like that," he answered. "It took me getting fired and her resigning before she finally came to terms with it. My point is that it doesn't always have to be that way. It doesn't have to end with you pathetically confessing your love every week and getting fired from your job."

Cuddy nodded at him as she took in his words. "I appreciate the advice, however unsolicited and slightly inappropriate it was," she said.

Chase reached into his wallet and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. "Anytime," he answered, handing her the bill. "And you were right. The bet was about you."

* * *

One hour and forty-seven minutes later—exactly thirteen minutes _before _she told him she would be back, Lisa Cuddy walked up to the door of his apartment. She'd mulled over Chase's words on the drive back from the hospital, and she hated to admit it, but a small pit in her stomach had formed.

She'd based their entire relationship on the very idea of indefinability, but now she had someone with firsthand experience telling her what a colossal mistake that was. She acted like they had everything under control, that they were fine with the way things were—and they were fine, they absolutely were.

But she wondered if maybe she deserved something more than "fine."

They'd had the awkwardly metaphorical conversation about their relationship a week ago, but not much had changed. They weren't seeing other people, but they weren't exactly seeing each other exclusively, either.

She didn't know what the hell they were doing.

But she did know that whatever it was, she liked it.

So she ignored the thoughts that plagued her mind and opened the door to his apartment, making as little noise as possible. Cuddy peaked her head in, sneaking in quietly and tiptoeing into the foyer.

Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor as she walked into his apartment. She didn't see him in the living room, and she paused when she got to his couch, thinking back to their conversation before she left.

She smirked and looked down at her fuchsia colored silk top, biting down on her bottom lip with a sly grin on her face. She heard the sound of his feet shuffling in the kitchen and the clanging of pots together, and she smiled, because she knew he wouldn't cook for just anyone; maybe that was as close to confirmation that she was ever going to get.

Cuddy lifted her top off and gently placed it on the end table—it was pure silk, after all.

Clad only in her black and grey-laced bra that just so happened to have a fuchsia lining that matched her shirt perfectly, her grey wool skirt that was possibly half an inch too short, and her impossibly high black pumps, she walked into his kitchen.

"Hey," she said, greeting him casually. He turned at the sound of her heels and her voice, smirking to himself as he noticed her lack in attire. She smiled wickedly at him and twirled a lock of hair around her finger, licking her bottom lip.

He shuddered a breath as he removed the tin foil that had been covering their two plates. "Crisis averted?" he asked, handing her a plate. She smiled appreciatively at him and nodded.

"It's handled," she said, shrugging her shoulders. House's eyes widened as her chest moved in tandem with her upper body.

He groaned.

"Is there a reason your shirt is already off?"

Cuddy stabbed a piece of asparagus with her fork and took a bite, closing her eyes as she bit into the parmesan-encrusted vegetable. She reopened them, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"I thought we were going to have sex," she admitted dryly as she leaned up against the wall.

House smirked.

"Logical assumption," he mused as he walked towards her. He took her plate from her hand and set it on the counter, ignoring the look of opposition that was forming on her face.

The look was quickly replaced by one of satisfaction when she felt him wrap his arm around her, pulling her in for a kiss. She leaned up against him, her arm lazily draping across his shoulder and around his neck.

"I was wondering when you were going to do that," she murmured against his lips.

"You know me," he said as she pulled him back towards the wall, running her hand through his hair, "element of surprise is my MO. Which is slightly contradictory, if you really think about it."

"Predictably unpredictable," she mused. "Goes along with that alleged bad-boy image you were talking about earlier."

Cuddy let out a slight laugh as he kissed her once more, his hand nipping at the bare skin of her torso.

Then her stomach growled.

House dropped his head to her shoulder, her skin muffling the groan that escaped from her lips. She patted his shoulder apologetically and wriggled out from underneath him as she reached for the plate he had set on the counter.

He gently pushed her into the living room, leading her back to the couch.

"Leave your shirt off," he ordered, noticing that she was about to reach for it. "Sometimes I forget how much a cup is. I may need to use your breasts as a guide."

"I thought you were done cooking," she teased, looking back at him.

"I'm never done cooking," he deadpanned, winking dramatically at her. Cuddy stifled a laugh even though she didn't fully understand his joke. "So tell me," he said, sitting down on the couch next to her, "are Chase and Cameron participating in some type of fight club erotica? Because if that's the case I think we should definitely get you in on that. With Cameron, I mean. Chase is too pretty for either one of you."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"He fed me some half-brained story about a fight over who needed the OR more," she said, shaking her head. "But I didn't buy it. Sounded more like a bet gone wrong."

"Was it about who was more likely to start fight club at the hospital?"

"I don't care how many times you offhandedly mention that movie," she began, taking another bite from her plate, "I am not watching that with you again." House dropped his shoulders and rolled his eyes.

Cuddy let out a slight smile as she realized they were arguing about movies they had _already _watched. And this time she smiled fully at him, because that was the sort of thing her _parents_ used to argue about.

"But if it makes you feel better," she said mockingly, pursing her lips in a pouty fashion, "I think the bet had something to do with me. Which probably means it has something to do with you."

House smirked.

"I do love being the center of hospital gossip," he said, grinning at her, "gives me a real purpose in life."

"Forget that whole saving lives thing," Cuddy quipped. She placed her half empty plate on the coffee table and crawled towards him, her palms falling to his chest as she knelt beside him.

She tugged at his t-shirt and he moved his hand from the top of the couch to her bare back, running his fingers up and down her spine.

"Saving lives is overrated," he muttered, his hand pausing at the clasp of her bra. "You wouldn't understand, when you've done it as many times as I have, it eventually gets a little stale. You know what they say about repetition."

She slapped his chest playfully and then bunched his t-shirt up in her hand, pulling him towards her lips.

Cuddy smirked and guided his hand towards the clasp of her bra. He shifted slightly underneath her so that she was hovering over him, nestled in the gap between his legs. She pulled her lips away and nudged her nose against his, her hair cascading over her face.

He knew it was love when she muttered:

"You don't seem to mind fucking me repeatedly."

Because he didn't—he _really, really, _didn't.

* * *

Cuddy zipped her skirt up and then took a sip from the freshly poured wine glass she had gotten for herself while she thumbed through the vinyl records on his bookshelf; she'd slipped back into her heels, but neglected to put back on her shirt—she figured the bra would suffice.

Besides, getting fully dressed meant that she was leaving, and even though it was nearing midnight, she had no intention of doing that any time soon.

House had gone back into the kitchen for something, leaving her alone. She was admiring the artwork on the Stones album _Some Girls_, when she heard hushed whispers and muffled footsteps outside the door to his apartment.

But it seemed to go away, so she ignored it. She took another sip of wine, her lips lingering on the glass. She noticed that her lipstick had rubbed off on it, so she swiftly traipsed her thumb across the stain, the burgundy color disappearing quickly.

She was setting her glass of wine back on the table when she heard the doorknob turning.

Her shirt was all the way on the other side of the room; there was no way she would be able to grab it in time. Cuddy froze in her spot, praying to all that was holy that Wilson was the one on the other side of the door.

She cringed wen she realized it most certainly _wasn't _Wilson.

"House!" yelled Thirteen as she and Taub burst into his apartment, "We have a case, you can't just not answer your phone.

"Oh—" said Taub, the first one to notice that she was standing in the middle of his living room half naked.

Cuddy closed her eyes and bit down on her bottom lip. This was _not_ happening. She had half a mind to pinch herself in the hopes that she was dreaming.

"I'm sorry, we didn't mean to um…intrude—" stammered Thirteen.

"Turn around," Cuddy ordered, her eyes still closed; she refused to see the looks on their faces. "Both of you."

They muttered in compliance and turned around to face the door.

Cuddy took a deep breath and took hurried steps over to where her shirt had been haphazardly thrown earlier. She picked it up and walked back towards the kitchen, slipping it back on and cursing herself inwardly for being so careless.

"Well if the entire hospital didn't know we were sleeping together before, they definitely do now," she said, exasperated. She lifted a hand to her temple and began to slowly pace back and forth.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, shutting one of his cabinets and turning around to face her. A disappointed look washed over his face. "Why did you put your clothes back on?"

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him.

"Did you not hear Taub and Thirteen barge in here thirty seconds ago? Why don't you ever lock your door, by the way?"

"Because usually _you're_ the one barging into my apartment and ripping your clothes off." Cuddy scoffed and House paused, raising his eyebrows at her. "Wait, were you dressed when they walked in?"

There was a hint of laughter in his voice because he already knew the answer, and for some reason, that made her even more frustrated.

"What do you think?" she hissed, gesturing to her reddened face and current state of embarrassment. "I believe Taub had the best view of my breasts, but I'm not one hundred percent sure. You might want to compare notes with Thirteen, see what the three of you come up with."

House shrugged his shoulders.

"At least the bra you're wearing is aristocratically appropriate for the Dean of Medicine."

Cuddy glared at him with as much intensity as she could possibly muster.

"Seriously? Two members of your team saw me half naked and all you have to say is _at least your bra is aristocratically appropriate for the Dean of Medicine_?"

"Would you rather I said it was slutty? I'm not sure what that would do for your image, but we can go that route if you'd like," he said. "Or better yet, I could tell them about the matching underwear you're wearing."

"Just get out there!" she demanded, plopping down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "They mentioned something about a case and you not answering your phone. I'm not letting my breasts be responsible for the death of your patient."

House smirked and folded his arms over his chest. Cuddy looked up at him, and a slight smile escaped her lips as she pointed in the direction of the living room. He paused as he walked past her and took his face in her hands as he placed a flippant kiss on the top of her forehead.

"Hey kids," he said, greeting them cheerfully, "what brings you to my neck of the woods at this late hour?"

"We heard about the peep show," Taub deadpanned. Thirteen rolled her eyes and shoved a patient file into House's hands.

"Patient," she corrected. "Twenty-seven year old female presented with severe insomnia and weight loss, but claims her appetite and eating habits haven't changed."

"She's also been experiencing muscle weakness and intolerance to heat," Taub added. House nodded as he flipped through the file, going over the tests his team had already done. "More importantly," Taub continued, "Cuddy was standing in your living room half naked."

House nodded, his eyes fixed on the file in front of him.

"Breast examination," said House as he finally looked up. "Don't worry," he directed towards Thirteen, "I can do you next if you want. And you," he said, gesturing towards Taub.

"Tox-screen was clean," said Thirteen, "and my breasts are fine, thanks for asking. She's also experiencing blurred vision, but we ruled out infection and cancer."

Suddenly they heard the clicking of heels walking towards them. Cuddy appeared in the living room, her face no longer flushed and her shirt pristinely tucked into her pencil skirt.

Taub darted his eyes to the floor; it was physically taxing for him to not picture her completely naked at this point.

"Is there a tremor in her hand?" Cuddy asked. House looked over and handed the file to her and she glossed over it.

Taub lifted his head up slightly and cleared his throat; Cuddy gave him a pointed look and urged him to continue.

"She was twitching earlier, but her boyfriend said it was normal," Taub answered.

Cuddy shut the file and handed it back to House. "The problem is in her thyroid, it's autoimmune. Graves disease is most likely. Check her thyroid hormone levels and then treat with methimazole."

Taub and Thirteen looked up at House for confirmation; he nodded at them. "You heard the now-fully-clothed lady," he said. Cuddy rolled her eyes and lifted a hand to her forehead. "Scram," he ordered, nodding at the door. "If you couldn't tell, we were kind of in the middle of something."

Cuddy cleared her throat and widened her eyes at him. Taub and Thirteen muttered indistinguishable responses before nodding and heading towards the door. Taub continued to walk with his head bowed, but he paused once he reached the threshold.

Taub turned to Thirteen and said:

"Damn. I owe Chase fifty bucks."

* * *

She was lying naked in his bed while the sound of the Rolling Stones album she had been admiring earlier played in the background; she smirked to herself—he _would_ insist on solely listening to vinyl.

Cuddy sat there entangled in the sheets, her face resting on the pillow, his hand running up and down her back every so often as he flipped through the latest edition of a medical journal—he switched between that and _Trucker Weekly_.

She breathed in the fluffy white pillow, sighing contently at the feeling of his hand on the small of her back.

She thought back to her conversation with Chase; she hadn't mentioned it to House, and she doubted she ever would, but now that half of his team had some particularly incriminating evidence, she started to wonder if she should air on the side of caution.

It was infuriating, really—because this had been her idea from the very beginning, and now she was lying in his bed wondering if she had gone about this entirely wrong. Because he wasn't the one who was insistent on keeping things…casual.

Even the word was starting to make her cringe.

But there was a big difference between casually seeing House and _being_ with House, and she wasn't sure either one of them were emotionally ready for the latter. Was it worth risking what they had now for the possibility of a relationship, where the only thing different was the placement of a label? Or would it completely change their dynamic? Would they start tiptoeing around each other and be in a perpetual state of fear—fear of losing one another, fear of speaking their mind, fear of pushing the metaphorical envelope just a little too far?

Was she scared because she knew it was a love that could end, or because she knew it was a love that might just last?

She didn't know, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.

House sighed and placed the magazine on the bedside table, bored with it's content. He relaxed into the pillow, his arm crossing her middle and pulling her back to him, turning her to face him.

Beast of Burden started to play, and she smiled lazily at him, pushing the thoughts out of her mind.

House gave her a quizzical look.

"We're you even alive when this song came out?" he teased

Cuddy let out a slight laugh and playfully shoved his shoulder.

"No," she confessed. "I bet you were though, considering you're practically a dinosaur."

House gripped her waist, pinching his fingers into her skin. Cuddy laughed and let out a small shriek, struggling to get out of his grasp. There was a soft rumble in his chest.

"Somebody's got jokes tonight," he teased, releasing her from his grip.

Cuddy gave him a self-satisfied grin and shrugged her shoulders as she turned towards him and flipped on to her stomach. She rested her chin in the palm of her hand, her hair falling slightly in front of her face.

"I used to want to be a paleontologist you know," she said. "I even insisted on being a pterodactyl three Halloweens in a row."

"Please tell me you were a college freshman with very little clothing on," he said.

Cuddy shook her head and gave him a pointed look.

"I was a four year old with home-made dinosaur wings and an outraged mother who simply couldn't fathom why her daughter didn't want to be a princess."

House smirked.

"You were a nerd even at the ripe old age of four," he said. "Impressive."

Cuddy shrugged her shoulders. "I was the hot nerd that every jock wanted to bang in high school," she corrected. "Many tried, many failed."

"Always the tease," he said, turning so he hovered over her. Cuddy lifted her lips to his, catching him in a kiss. Her eyes fluttered as she pulled away from him, the day finally catching up with her. "What time is it?" she murmured.

House turned his head towards the nightstand, glancing at the clock. "Almost one," he answered. Cuddy sighed and rolled away from him, fumbling for her shirt.

"I should go," she said apologetically, finding her shirt at the edge of the bed. "I'm exhausted and I have a meeting first thing tomorrow morning."

House reached for her arm, pulling her back.

"You could stay," he suggested nonchalantly.

Cuddy froze; she hadn't stayed the night since she had dragged him out of his apartment for a midnight showing of her favorite movie—and that was all part of a game.

But this wasn't a game any longer.

"You want me to stay?" she asked, her voice cracking unexpectedly.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I want you to not die in a car crash because you fell asleep at the wheel. You're a woman, so the odds are already against you," he quipped.

"How nice," she deadpanned.

His eyes looked up and down her sheet covered body, his hand grazing across her neck and up to her cheek.

"You're also not to bad too look at," he said matter-of-factly.

Cuddy smirked, letting out a slight laugh. "You haven't seen me in the morning, " she answered, a sly grin on her face.

"I'll take my chances," he said, placing light kisses to the base of her neck. One hand moved to the back of his head, her fingers running through his hair. "As long as you don't look like a pterodactyl," he joked.

Cuddy smiled and moved her head to the right, her lips crashing against his. She pulled away and nodded her head.

He grinned down at her as she let her shirt fall to the ground.

* * *

_What ever could go wrong? Leave me your thoughts!_

_-Alison_


	7. Spontaneity

_A/N: Good News: I finished chapter 8 earlier in the week. Bad News: I've been bombarded with school work this week (who wants to write my Lord of The Rings essay and take my French Exam for me?), so I'm not quite sure when I'll be able to write chapter 9. I'd prefer not to post chapter 8 if I'm not at least one chapter ahead, but I also don't want to leave you guys hanging, so I'll play it by ear. _

_My one-shot muse has bewitched my entire body and soul (Pride and Prejudice, anyone?), and I have about a million little ideas stored away on my iphone. It's going to be a fun summer-only a month and a half left of school!_

_Note: For those watch Grey's Anatomy/Private Practice, be on the lookout for a special appearance in this chapter. She follows a close second to Lisa Cuddy when it comes to my favorite female doctor._

_Note (2): Let's play spot the Gone with the Wind reference._

* * *

He heard her shuffling around in the morning; her movements were slow and cautious, as if she was doing everything in her power not to wake him. He felt her untangle herself form the sheets, but he didn't dare move a muscle.

She'd fallen asleep with her back to him and his arm draped across her stomach; when she woke, it was still there.

He opened his eyes for a brief second around seven in the morning and caught a quick glimpse of her primping herself in front of the mirror. She had been staring into the mirror rather intently, her hands firmly gripped on the edge of the sink.

He saw her bite down on the bottom of her lip and shift her gaze to the floor; he shut his eyes immediately and continued to feign sleep.

He felt her presence looming over him before she left. She must have paused at the edge of the bed; perhaps she was reconsidering her somewhat covert escape attempt.

He forcibly willed himself not to smirk at her nervousness.

He didn't know why she was sneaking out of his apartment. Rationally speaking, he was fully aware that she had to leave eventually—they couldn't very well walk into the hospital together, and she wouldn't be caught dead in the same outfit she'd worn the previous day.

But the slightly less rational part of his brain, the one that had convinced that him it was a good idea to ask her to spend the night in the first place, was left wondering why she was leaving without a word.

He didn't hear her when she was walking away, which meant she'd neglected to slip back into her heels—which meant she knew he was awake when he left.

He really had to start keeping his _smirks_ in check.

House groaned and looked at the clock; it was a quarter past seven, and Cuddy was undoubtedly on her way to the hospital at this point. He thought about getting dressed and going in to work three hours earlier than usual, but he didn't want to do anything that would make this morning even _more_ out of the ordinary.

He kept thinking back to when she paused; he could practically see the lines of worry on her face that would surely morph into guilt by her second cup of morning coffee. She must have been rethinking her decision, questioning what it would mean and how he would react—she seemed to be doing a lot of that these days.

If he was being honest with himself, he was doing it too.

But he didn't think that having her stay the night had been a mistake—after all, she'd done it once before. But that was different, that was all part of a game.

This wasn't a game.

She wasn't bowing to the pressures of a bet, or trying to prove to him that she wasn't always what he thought she was; she had stayed because he asked her to, and more importantly, she had stayed because she _wanted_ to.

But everything was different in the light of day. What's fun and spontaneous is suddenly foolish and premature, and the people you spend your nights with are different than the people you want to wake up next to in the morning.

The proverbial shift in their relationship had hit him full force, and this time he wasn't sure he was going to make it out.

House hit the snooze button on the alarm and went back to sleep.

* * *

Cuddy balanced her extra large cup of coffee in her hand as she cradled her cell phone between her cheek and her shoulder, searching for a seat in her usual coffee shop.

She sighed and took a generous sip as she sat down, listening to her friend Addison chastise her on the phone. She and Addison had become friends years ago, always finding themselves attending the same obligatory "empowered-women-in-medicine" medical conference.

"I can't believe you called me at four in the morning to tell me you snuck out of a boy's house," she groaned.

Cuddy rolled her eyes and felt a slight pang of guilt; she'd forgotten about the time zone difference.

"That's what happens when you uproot your entire life and move across the country," Cuddy joked. Addison had lived in New York before moving to Seattle in a failed attempt to repair her marriage. About a year ago, she'd made her final move to Los Angeles.

"Besides," Cuddy continued, taking another sip of her latte, "nobody said you had to answer the phone."

"And miss out on the possibility of four AM booty call gossip? Not a chance, "Addison answered, stifling a yawn. "So let me get this straight, you _actually _snuck out of his apartment? I'm talking shirt barely buttoned, heels in hand."

"House isn't a booty call," said Cuddy, slightly defensively. "And what else was I supposed to do, make him breakfast?" Cuddy scoffed at the mere image; she could barely picture herself waking up in his apartment, let alone making herself at home.

Besides, she _hated _breakfast food. But the frustrating thing about all this, the thing that caused her to pause at the edge of his bed before leaving, was that she wouldn't have hated eating breakfast food with him.

"I suppose a good morning was out of the question," Addison quipped. Cuddy could practically see the eyebrow that was undoubtedly arched on the redhead's face.

"I'll see him at work later," she said, shrugging her shoulders and trying to rationalize her actions.

Because the truth was, she had no idea why she'd left without a word.

"Like _see him see him_, or just you know, get a visual?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes—Addison really needed to get away from the West Coast.

"Stop," Cuddy ordered, a slight hint of laughter to her voice.

"Hey," Addison interjected, her voice perking up, "on-call rooms were invented for a reason. That's all I'm saying."

"Do doctors really do that?" Cuddy asked, her voice lowering to a whisper as she debated on whether or not she was shocked or impressed with the information—although, she couldn't be too judgmental, given her recent track record.

Cuddy smirked to herself and took another sip of coffee.

"They do at Seattle Grace Mercy Fuck," Addison answered bluntly.

Cuddy shook her head and let out a slight chuckle, noting Addison's subtle hint of pained jealousy. "I should be going," she said. "I'm already later than I planned on being. I'll see you at the conference next month?"

"Yes," said Addison groggily, "you, me, and about a hundred other women who, try as they might, never manage to look quite as fabulous as the two of us."

Cuddy stifled a laugh.

"I see California has mellowed your ego," she joked, gathering up her things and getting up from her chair. She slung the strap of her black leather briefcase over her shoulder and made her way towards the exit of the coffee shop. "I'll let you get back to sleep," she said.

Addison muttered something unintelligible and Cuddy smirked, hanging up the phone.

And just like clockwork, a pang of guilt surged through her bones as she headed to the hospital.

* * *

House walked into the hospital ten minutes later than usual. He opened the door and limped in, his eyes scanning the entrance as he walked. Doctors and Nurses frantically bustled around him as he made his way to towards the elevator.

A nurse attempted to wave him over to the front desk, but he simply pointed to his limp and gave her an apologetic look; he made sure to wince a bit more than usual with his next step.

His eyes darted to the direction of her office. He could see that she was hunched over her desk, typing away at her computer. There was a cup of coffee from the shop that she frequented sitting next to her, and he smirked when an unpleasant look swept across her face as she took a sip—it must have grown cold in the passing hours.

He pressed the button to the elevator, wondering how long she had been sitting there; he assumed she hadn't moved since she walked in hours ago. She rarely left her office when she was struggling with some type of internal battle. He rolled his eyes; of course she was making this into a big deal.

But then he paused, because he realized _he_ was the one who staring into her office and wondering what she was thinking.

He cleared his throat and turned his head away as the elevator doors opened. He stepped in and pressed the appropriate button. When the elevator stopped, he hobbled off and made his way to Wilson's office, bypassing his own for the moment.

House walked into Wilson's office and shut the door before plopping down into a chair. Wilson lifted his head up from a file, raising his eyebrows and waiting for House to speak.

"Cuddy's being an idiot," he stated.

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Finally realized that the two of you are acting like lovesick teenagers with absolutely no grasp on reality?" he asked, setting his pen down on his desk and slightly leaning forward.

"Trust me, I definitely do this kind of stuff when I was a teenager," he mused. A disgusted look washed over Wilson's face. "Cuddy stayed over last night," he admitted.

"As in she slept in the bed next to you? Like overnight?"

House rolled his eyes.

"Women _have_ stayed the night at your apartment, right? You know what it entails?"

Wilson scoffed and closed the files on his desk, giving House a knowing smirk that was followed by a self-satisfying grin. "I knew you two couldn't keep up the façade of a casual relationship for long," he stated. "Her staying the night is a big step."

House shifted in his seat, his eyes darting to the ground for a brief moment.

"There was no proverbial shift in our relationship," he claimed, his eyes flicking towards Wilson as he thought back to his thoughts three hours ago. Wilson shook his head as House struggled to stammer out the words he didn't quite believe. "It was late, she was tired….it was convenient, that's all."

"Convenient," Wilson mused, nodding his head as he spoke, "also known as the _least_ romantic word in the English language," he said, furrowing his brow. "Whatever you say to her, don't say _that_."

House closed his eyes and began to tap his cane against the ground. Wilson paused and eyed him suspiciously.

"Wait a second," he said skeptically, leaning forward in his chair. "You two have talked about this, haven't you? You discussed what it would mean for your relationship?"

"Sure we discussed it," said House, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his head to the side, "one grunted syllable at a time."

Wilson shook his head in disbelief.

"So she was too tired to drive home, but somehow mustered up the strength to have sex, leaving no room for talking whatsoever?" he asked.

"We're very into the Victorian Era right now," answered House, "I just tell her to lie back and think of England. Doesn't require much effort on her part."

Wilson scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"What did she say in the morning?" he asked. "Better yet, what did _you_ say?"

House shook his head. "Nothing," he answered. "She was gone by the time I woke up. And now she's holed away in her office refusing to leave just so she can avoid me for the rest of the day. Or longer, if she's feeling guilty enough."

Wilson smirked.

"You're upset," he stated.

"I'm not upset," muttered House, shrugging off his claims. "I'm mad because she thinks everything has changed due to the fact that she rumpled up my sheets for an extended period of time—and not in the usual way. She's being an idiot, analyzing her every move."

"Talk to her House," he ordered, reopening his case file. "Talk to her, tell her how you feel, and don't use the word convenient. You and I both know there is more to it than that."

House nodded and got up from the chair, limping towards the door. He paused, his hand gripping the knob as he lingered at he entryway.

"Know any good synonyms for convenient?"

Wilson rolled his eyes as House closed the door to his office. It was bad enough when House ignored his own problems, but Cuddy ignoring hers was even worse—especially when the problem was a direct result of their predisposed inability to share what was going on in their equally screwed up minds.

* * *

"Eight-year old girl admitted to the ER complaining of stomach pains." Foreman walked into the DDX room and threw the file on to the table. Taub, Thirteen and Kutner looked up, each grabbing a copy.

Foreman scrunched up nose as he looked around the room.

"Where the hell is House? It's practically noon."

Taub and Thirteen shared a knowing glance before quickly turning their attention back to the case file.

"I saw him wander into Wilson's office a minute ago," said Kutner, oblivious to the smirks Taub and Thirteen were trying to hide. "He should be back soon. This kid has had an unusual amount of hospital visits," he mused. "Three broken fingers, several appointments with a nutritionist, multiple visits to therapy," rambled Kutner.

"Think the parents are trying to cover something up?" Taub asked.

Foreman shook his head.

"I saw the parents in the ER, they were very attentive. They seemed very worried about their daughter, practically begged me to run more tests."

"Maybe they're compensating for something," Thirteen suggested, raising her eyebrows as she skimmed over the file and patient history.

"Guilt," bellowed House as he barged into the office. The team lifted their heads from the table, glancing up at him. "Causes Catholics to confess to all their little tiny sins, oncologists to care too much, and Dean of Medicines to wear low-cut tops. It can also cause abusive parents to act over-protective. Blasphemy I know, but hey, what can you do?"

"Where have you been?" asked Foreman, ignoring his spiel. "We have a case."

House furrowed his brow. "Did you miss the part where I agreed with Thirteen about the abusive parents?"

"You haven't even read the file," pointed out Kutner. House rolled his eyes as he took the file from Kutner, giving him a pointed look.

Taub and Thirteen quickly diverted their eyes away from him.

House thumbed through the file in a dramatically slow fashion as he mockingly rambled off the symptoms.

Foreman rolled his eyes before grabbing the file and standing up from the table. "I'll go talk to the parents," he said.

House nodded. "Kutner will go with you. The rest of us are going to go on a little field trip," he said, turning towards Taub and Thirteen. "Do an ultrasound while you're accusing the parents of hurting little Timmy."

"Kayla," corrected Thirteen.

"I thought gender was no longer important," House said mockingly. "You girls claim you want to be treated as equals, but when it comes down to it—"

"I'll page you when we have the results," interrupted Foreman. He motioned for Kutner to follow him before walking out the door.

Kutner shrugged his shoulders, shooting Taub and Thirteen apologetic smiles as he followed Foreman out the door.

Taub groaned as he looked over at House. "Where are we going? Is this about last night? Because that is_ not_ our fault. How were we supposed to know that Cuddy was going to standing in your living room half-naked?"

House rolled his eyes.

"Come along," said House, nodding his head towards the door. "Patty and Selma are long overdue for a visit."

Thirteen rolled her eyes as she watched House limp out of the office. She and Taub begrudgingly got out of their seat and followed; she paused at the door and said:

"Who the hell are Patty and Selma?"

* * *

Cuddy pressed down on her intercom, sighing as she called for her assistant. "Alex, could you bring me the budget report from last quarter?"

She looked up as she heard the door to her office swinging open, sighing as she noticed House and his two fellows walking into her office. She pressed back down on the intercom. "Never mind, I'll have to get it later."

House smiled innocently at her as he propped his feet up on her desk. Taub and Thirteen hung back, staring awkwardly at their two bosses.

"Are you making it a habit to barge into rooms unannounced?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Taub and Thirteen. She glared at House and gently shoved his feet off from her desk.

"Only when you're not wearing tops," said House, leaning his head back into the chair, tilting it over as he winked at Taub and Thirteen.

Thirteen cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Can we go back to the patient now?" Taub asked, irritated. "I feel like an abused child takes precedence over the fact that we saw Cuddy with her shirt off in your apartment."

House wrinkled up his nose.

"I would maybe believe you if you could manage to tear your eyes away form her chest," said House.

Cuddy held up her hand, quieting them all. "You have an abused patient and you haven't alerted social services?" she asked. She averted her eyes towards House, glaring at him. "Does the word protocol mean absolutely nothing to you?"

"It's just a theory," Thirteen interjected. "And we promise not to say anything about what we…saw. Can we go now?"

"No," Cuddy ordered, turning her attention back to House. "What's your diagnosis on the patient?"

House shrugged his shoulder and readjusted himself in his seat. "Rotten case of bad parents," he said.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him, sighing. "So you don't have a diagnosis at all? What are you even doing here, I didn't call you down here."

"Patty and Selma are always calling," he joked, winking dramatically at her.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Get back to work," she ordered. "All of you."

Taub and Thirteen nodded and turned towards the door, where Foreman and Kutner were hurriedly walking through.

"She's not being abused by her parents," said Foreman as he walked into Cuddy's office.

Cuddy lifted a hand to her forehead, rubbing it slightly. "By all means, please come in."

House ignored her and turned around in his seat. "Is that what the parents told you? Because they could be—oh what's the word—_lying_."

"Both the parents and child denied any abuse. And I did a full body workup, the kid is clean."

Cuddy scooted out from her chair, picking up a pile of files as she walked out from behind her desk. "I'm going out there," she said, her eyes narrowing at him. "Feel free to continue to use my office instead of your own," she snapped sarcastically.

House smirked, watching as she sauntered away from him. He glared at Taub when he noticed that his eyes were lingering on her chest.

Taub cleared his throat once Cuddy walked out the door, suddenly embarrassed.

"The stomach pain is getting worse," began Foreman, "and I took a further look into her history, the kid has had trouble since she was six months old. The parents said she was always crying, had difficulty moving once she started to walk, and often suffered from spasms."

"Sounds like a developmental issue," said Thirteen. "Any issues with her speech?"

Kutner nodded his head. "Some when she was younger, but it faded out over the years. Could be something as simple as Autism."

"Autism wouldn't go undiagnosed this long," muttered House. He pressed his cane to his forehead, tapping it lightly as he thought.

"What about cerebral palsy?" asked Kutner

"That definitely wouldn't have gone undiagnosed this long," said Foreman. "We have to be missing something, something small."

House perked his head up.

"How small are her hands?" House asked, turning around to face his team.

Foreman furrowed his brow. "She's eight, her hands are tiny," he stated.

"That's not what I asked," said House, rolling his eyes. "Are they small, or are they small for an eight years old?"

Foreman closed his eyes briefly, understanding what he was getting at.

"It's Rett syndrome," said House. "Manage the neurological symptoms with dextromethorphan and prescribe anti-psychotics."

"Rett syndrome isn't curable," Kutner pointed out, his eyes falling to the ground for a brief moment.

House rolled his eyes.

"Doesn't mean it's not a diagnosis."

* * *

After his team had vacated her office, he found Cuddy hovering over the desk at the front of the clinic. He smirked when he saw her straighten her posture and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear as she noticed his presence.

"Do you have an actual diagnosis yet?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

House nodded.

"It's Rett Syndrome," he said, his eyes look her up and down. She cast her eyes to the ground, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. He was studying her, trying to piece together the puzzle of the last few hours.

She scoffed.

"Is she also suffering from Scarlet Fever?" He smirked at her reference, watching as she slightly regained her confidence. "Rett Syndrome is one of the rarest developmental diseases," she said.

House nodded.

"Which would explain why it's gone undiagnosed for this long. You busy?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"I'm always busy," she answered, shrugging him off. She knew what he was getting at.

"Is that why you pulled a disappearing act this morning?" His tone was flat; she couldn't tell if he was accusing her of something, or if he was hurt by her leaving— but she couldn't imagine it was the last one.

Accusation it was.

She paused, lifting a hand to her forehead before nodding in the direction of her office. She placed her hand on his shoulder for a moment, pushing him in that direction as she walked.

She ignored a skeptical look from one of the nurses as she closed the door to her office.

Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip, running a hand through her hair as she looked him up and down; his posture wasn't giving anything away, either.

"Look, what happened last night doesn't have to be—" she paused, struggling to find the words. House smirked at her nervousness. "It doesn't have to be a regular thing," she stammered out.

House paused, his gaze meeting hers.

"So should I expect you to up and leave every time you stay the night? What happens when I stay at your place? Because I don't move as quickly as you, so that might be an issue. But I can be stealth, if need be."

Cuddy let out a slight laugh, shaking her head at his masked accusations.

"I thought we weren't making this into a big deal," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"We're not," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "You were tired, I had a bed, it was—"

"Convenient," Cuddy offered up, giving him a slight smile.

House smirked, the words of his earlier conversation with Wilson echoing in his mind. Cuddy eyed him suspiciously, furrowing her brow as she noticed the smirk on his face.

He was enjoying this just a little _too_ much.

"Are you going to Chase's little shindig later?" he asked, changing the subject rather quickly. He leaned against the chair in front of her desk, watching as she returned to her seat.

She sat down and sighed, shrugging her shoulders as she took a pen in her hand. Cameron was throwing Chase a birthday party at the bar down the street, and had invited everyone on House's team, including herself. Normally she wouldn't have thought anything of it, but ever since the slightly uncomfortable grocery store run in, Cuddy had been waiting for Cameron's passive aggressive attempt to get her to own up to her relationship with House—she was fairly certain the impromptu invite was just that.

Cuddy shrugged her shoulders.

"I haven't decided yet," she answered, eyeing him suspiciously. She paused, biting down on her bottom lip. "Are you going?" she asked

"Is my attendance dependent on yours?" he asked, leaning towards her desk. Cuddy scoffed, shaking her head in slight amusement.

"Is it possible for you to answer a question without forming another?"

House leaned forward, his eyes slowly drifting down to the plunge of her neckline. He rested his hands on the edge of his cane, focusing his gaze on her. He smirked at her.

"What do you think?" he asked, grinning to himself as a slightly irritated—but mostly amused—look swept across her face.

"Sometimes I think you say things simply out of spite," she spit back, picking up a pen that lay across her desk, pretending to ignore him.

"How long have you known me?"

This time she let out an actual laugh, the pen falling form her hands as she shook her head. "Pick me up at eight," she ordered, her eyes dancing towards him.

It was useless to pretend that she wasn't going to go home with him at the end of the night anyways.

"Presumptuous," he stated, sitting upright. She smirked at him, her head tilting as she shrugged her shoulders.

"Maybe it's just instinct," she answered slyly, raising her eyebrows at him. He paused—she was really throwing him for a loop lately. Regaining her confidence once more, she sat up, leaning closer towards him. "Or were you planning on going home with someone else? Because if that's the case, I could ask Taub for a ride. Or Thirteen even. What do you think? She seem interested?"

House gulped.

He considered taking another crack at her leaving earlier that morning, but thought better of it—he clearly wasn't wearing her down with his jokes. So instead, he cleared his throat and tilted his head, giving her a devilish grin as he said:

"See you at eight."

* * *

They straggled into the bar around 8:30. House had gotten to her house at promptly 8:07—she assumed his tardiness was once again, out of spite.

So she did the only thing that seemed natural to her—she retaliated. Cuddy insisted on changing her shirt, claiming that the neckline was just a little too inappropriate. In reality it wasn't, but watching him squirm at the thought of her covering up was more rewarding than she thought possible.

She'd slid into the tightest pair of jeans she owned, and a pale pink ruffled tank top loosely hung off her body. She threw on a casual black blazer for good measure, and slipped into a pair of black suede, gold pointed flats. Her hair was more straight than curly, and a nude color was glossed over her lips.

She looked effortlessly stunning.

House gulped as they walked out the door at approximately 8:13.

The drive over had been rather uneventful, save for a minor dispute over the music—he simply didn't understand her disdain for The Doors. After a few minutes of watching her silently fume out of the corner of his eye, he'd begrudgingly let her change the station. He grumbled while she smirked to herself.

They'd walked into the bar side by side, their eyes searching for familiar faces amongst the crowd. Cuddy paused, her eyebrows raised as she spotted Alexandra in the corner, surrounded by House's team. She was sitting between Thirteen and Kutner, but she was much closer to Thirteen than anyone else.

She gripped House's forearm.

"Is that…" her voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence as her gaze lingered across the room.

"God I hope so," House muttered, his yes widening as he got a closer look.

Cuddy playfully slapped his arm and nodded in the direction of the bar. House ordered a beer, and Cuddy casually nodded her head at the bartender, motioning for him to bring her one as well.

House raised his eyebrows at her; beer was rarely her drink of choice. The bartender set two bottles in front of them, and Cuddy sent him a devilish grin as she brought the cold drink to her lips.

"Where's Wilson?" Cuddy wondered aloud, surveying the room. Chase and Cameron were sitting with House's team, and Cuddy had noticed a few other hospital employees milling about.

House rolled his eyes as he took another swig of his beer.

"He's not coming, something about Amber having something special planned. I understand though. Their time is limited, what with her being a vampire and everything," said House, shrugging his shoulders.

Cuddy let out a slight laugh as she turned towards him, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on the wooden surface of the bar.

"You're going to have to get over your jealousy of Amber at some point," she said.

House smirked.

"Why do you think I dragged you here?"

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him. "Again with the questions," she teased playfully. She paused, taking another sip form her beer before pushing it away. Her face turned stoic and her features became more serious.

She pursed her lips as she said:

"Why don't you stop avoiding the issue and ask me the question you really want the answer to?"

"You think you know what I want?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Fine," he relented, pushing his beer away from him and shifting in his seat. "What's the real reason you left this morning? I know when you left, which means I know it had nothing to do with time. Which suggests it has something to do with me. Which is strange, since I'm the one who invited you to stay over in the first place."

Cuddy nervously bit down on her bottom lip, sighing before answering.

"Do you always analyze things like this?"

"Now you're breaking your own rules," he pointed out, "answering questions with another question."

She let out a slight chuckle. "I've been doing a lot of that lately," she said. "Fine. You want to know the real reason? I was afraid. I was afraid you would regret asking me to stay the minute you woke up next to me in the morning. So I didn't give you the option."

He smirked at her.

"Always one for control," he said, refusing to either deny or confirm her suspicions. She rolled her eyes at his lack of answer. He looked over to a vacant pool table and got up from the stool, holding his hand out to her.

"Wanna play?" he asked, his hand still stretched out.

Cuddy let out a sly grin, taking a sip from her beer before extending her hand out to him.

It wasn't as if she expected a response, anyway.

* * *

Cuddy bent over, the cue stick balanced expertly between her delicate fingers. Her tongue was sticking slightly out as she concentrated on the table in front of her. She could feel his eyes on her so she paused, dragging out her movements for the sole purpose of antagonizing him.

She smirked to herself as she sent the ball straight into the corner pocket.

"Your team is staring at us," she said observantly, watching as they switched places.

House took very little time deciding which ball to aim for, and a self-satisfied smirk crossed his lips as he managed to send two balls into the opposite corners.

His hand grazed the small of her back as they switched places once again.

"They're not used to Casual Cuddy," he mused, his shoulders dropping as the ball he had been aiming for bounced of the corner and pushed one of her own into the pocket.

She gave him a mockingly sympathetic look.

"You think Taub and Thirteen told anyone?" she asked, her voice never faltering as she shot two balls into the hole.

"Nah," said House. "Thirteen doesn't care enough, and Taub is too busy trying not to stare at your breasts. I doubt he has time to talk about them to anyone else."

Cuddy shook her head as she leaned against the table, taking a swig form her beer. House surveyed the table as he contemplated his next move—she was beating him by two.

"I forgot how good at this you were," he said, half impressed and half irritated.

Cuddy smirked.

"Yeah, some asshole I slept with in college taught me," she said flatly, her eyes darting towards him.

He cast his eyes to the ground, a smirk on his face as he made his move. "I'm getting another beer," she stated. "Want one?" he nodded at her and she smiled, walking back over to him. She leaned down next to him, her lips inches away from the side of his face.

He shuddered a breath as she whispered into his ear.

"Try not to cheat while I'm gone."

He turned his head. Her lips were inches away from hers, and if he wanted to, he could kiss her right then and there—she was practically begging him to; he could tell from the look in her eyes that she wanted him, but she didn't want to be the one to instigate it.

After all, she was the one with the reputation to hold up.

He turned back towards the pool table and set up for his last shot. He sent the eight ball right into the corner, beating her by exactly one.

He smirked as he stood up, watching as she mimicked his actions. Her arms were folded across her chest, and there was a saucy look in her eyes.

He leaned closer to her.

"No need to cheat when you've already won," he teased, raising his eyebrows at her.

Cuddy sent him a devilish grin, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. She grabbed their two beers and sauntered off, making sure to add a subtle jaunt to her step.

* * *

"Wasn't sure you would come," said Chase, sitting down next to her in the stool next to her. Cuddy looked over at him, a shy grin on her face.

"I guess this isn't exactly my scene," she answered. "Happy birthday, by the way."

Chase nodded in appreciation as he took a sip of his beer. "Seems to me like you're having fun," he said, turning his head towards House.

He'd gravitated over to where his team was sitting, and Cuddy shook her head, because he was staring wide-eyed at Thirteen and Alexandra.

"Your head seems to be healing nicely," said Cuddy, changing the subject and avoiding his claim.

Chase let out a slight laugh.

"It's a good sign," said Chase, ignoring her completely. He nodded in House's direction. "I could barely get Cameron to talk to me in public."

"Do you make it a mission to try and involve yourself in my personal life?" she accused tautly, eyes blazing with a hint of impressiveness. Chase was the only one who had enough balls to confront her—Taub couldn't even look her in the eyes.

And if she was being honest, he had always been her favorite.

"You've been spending too much time with House," Chase said, shaking his head in amusement. He pushed one of the beers that the bartender had set down towards her. "Not everyone has an agenda."

Cuddy eyed him suspiciously as she took a sip from the beer; it was a Corona, and she tasted a hint of lime. She sighed contently; Mexican beer had always burned in the best possible way.

She had definitely gotten used to _that_ feeling lately.

"You give any thought to what I said last night?" he asked, taking a sip of his own beer.

Cuddy sighed. Had that really been last night? Time was starting to creep up on her.

"Some," she answered half-heartedly, giving him a sly smile. She picked up another one of the beers and nodded towards Chase.

Chase smirked. "His entire team is jealous of you, you know."

Cuddy scoffed as she took another sip of her beer. "I highly doubt that," she answered pointedly.

"They bust their asses trying to impress him, and you throw on a pair of jeans and he is completely at your will. House doesn't notice people very often, but he notices you." He paused, his eyes falling for a moment. "They're feeling what I felt for months," he said thickly, a sadness to his voice. "The roles are just a little reversed."

Cuddy sighed, her gaze looking over to the team. Cameron was joining in on the conversation, probably chastising House for something inappropriate he had said.

Cuddy smiled as he met her gaze from across the room. She watched as he got up and made his way over towards where she and Chase were seating. She took another swig of her beer and looked over at Chase.

"Don't let her break your heart," she said quietly, giving him a small smile.

Chase let out a slight laugh, shaking his head as he looked over at Cuddy's slightly drunken state. Her mouth had gotten progressively looser as the night dragged on, and somehow, her confidence had risen just a tad.

Chase got up from his stool, noticing that House was getting closer. He gripped his hands on the edge of the bar, leaning forward slightly. "Sometimes a little heartbreak is good," he mused, shrugging his shoulders. "At least then you know it was real."

Cuddy nodded in agreement. That was the trouble with relationships; you never know how important they were until they're over. And by then, it was usually too late.

She watched as Chase walked away. He patted House on the shoulder as he passed him, and she laughed, because the look of utter confusion on his face was probably one of the cutest things she had ever seen.

But she quickly straightened up, bracing herself with layers of armor as he sat down next to her; because she was no longer questioning if what they had was real or not. They may not bare their souls to each other, but somewhere along the lines, they'd both forgotten they could read each other like a book. His truth was tangled up in metaphors and tied together with sarcasm, but it was there, and he knew she heard it.

And she didn't know if her heart was going to get broken, but the likelihood if it happening was increasing with every touch.

So she straightened up as he sat down and gave her a sly grin.

"What's going on over there?" she asked, nodding in the direction of his team.

"Nothing," said House, slightly unimpressed. "Thirteen and Little Assistant Alex claim they're just friends. Personally I think it was a ploy to see if they could get a little _rise_ out of me."

Cuddy smirked and playfully shoved his forearm. She wanted to recoil when he caught her hand in his, but for some reason, she didn't. He'd laced his fingers through hers and she took a deep breath, because she could feel him tearing down her walls of armor, and she began to wonder if she needed them in the first place.

She leaned closer, placing her free hand on his shoulder. She moved her hand up from his shoulder to the side of his face, her thumb running across his cheek as she said:

"Want to give them something to talk about?"

He didn't need to answer; she could see from the devilish grin on his face and the sparkle of his eyes that the answer was most definitely a yes.

So she leaned in closer, pressing her lips to his in such a swift motion that she didn't even have time to _think_ about changing her mind.

And he kissed her back with a force that seemed to wipe away all of her fears.

* * *

_If you couldn't tell, I'm absolutely in love with the Cuddy/Chase dynamic. I'd always wished we'd seen more of that on the show. Also, tip: if you're reviewing as a guest and have a question about something, I can't exactly answer you without a majorly long authors note in the following chapter. So if you have a question but don't have an account, feel free to send me a message on tumblr (sedgelstein). _

_And as always, feedback is appreciated. _

_-Alison_


	8. Red

_A/N: I realize this is about a day late, but yesterday was slightly hectic for me. I'm so glad you all enjoyed Addison-she makes a reappearance in this chapter. Unfortunately I haven't had time to finish the next chapter, so I'm not quite sure when the next uodate will be. Until then, enjoy!_

* * *

Cuddy rummaged through her closet, searching for that one pair of jeans that seemed to hug her in all the right places, but was somehow the most comfortable pair of pants she'd ever owned. She glanced over at the suitcase lying haphazardly on her bed, smirking to herself as she saw House thumbing through what she had already packed.

"What are you doing?" she asked, giving him a quizzical look as she walked over and placed the jeans next to the suitcase.

He shrugged.

"Just trying to gain a mental image of what you'll be wearing while you're gone," he answered, smirking at her. "It will make phone sex much easier."

She swatted his hand away when he picked up the matching bra and underwear he had given her three months ago. They'd been seeing each other for about four months, and the overnight stays were becoming more and more frequent.

Cuddy sat down on the bed, giving him a playful glare as she refolded all of her underwear. "I'll only be gone for two and a half days," she sad. "I think you can manage until then."

"Phone sex is a real art," he said, outraged by her lack of enthusiasm. He grinned as he scooted closer to her, pushing her suitcase to the side. "You'll see."

He winked dramatically at her and she scoffed, playfully shoving his arm away. She got up and made her way to the bathroom, tossing her hair over her shoulder and giving him a devilish grin.

She paused at the edge of the doorway.

"Not all of us started calling the sex hotline at the age of twelve," she fired back, walking into her bathroom in attempts to gather up her makeup.

She was standing on her tip toes reaching for a bag in the linen closet when he she heard him follow her into the room. She felt his hands settle on her waist and sneak underneath her slightly loose fitting grey v-neck, nipping at the skin that was exposed above the waistline of her black leggings.

Cuddy shivered when she felt his breath on her ear.

"You should be grateful to Shadow," he whispered, moving his hand up her shirt and turning her around. She raised her eyebrows at him, smirking as she pursed her lips. "She taught me everything I know."

Her breath hitched as he gently pushed her back towards the wall and pressed his lips to hers. She sighed, catching his bottom lip in hers as she angled herself upwards, her hand running up his chest and pausing at the base of his neck.

"I'll be sure send her a thank you note," she murmured, breaking away from him and letting her hands fall to the side. "Where does she work, the local SLUTS-R-US?"

She let out a slight laugh, the sound of her husky voice filling the air as she grinned up at him, clearly impressed with her own joke.

He tugged at her elbow, pressing down with his thumb an index finger as he gave her a pointed look. "You're pretty impressed with your self over that one, aren't you?" he asked, leaning in for another kiss.

She smiled into him before pulling away.

"Only slightly," she answered, shrugging her shoulders and wriggling out of his grasp.

Cuddy opened a drawer and pulled out some of her make up, organizing it on the counter before deciding what to take to the medical conference in Ohio. She threw a few tubes of lipstick into her cosmetic bag and lifted a hand to her chin as she mulled over what seemed like the hundred bottles of nail polish she owned—she and Addison always made it a point to spend one night watching incredibly sad movies and painting their nails.

House picked up her eye shadow palette, a quizzical look forming on his face as he read the title.

"You have makeup called "Naked"? Isn't that a little counterproductive?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

She glared at him and snatched her urban decay palette away from him. "It's supposed to look like you're not wearing much," she chastised.

"But you are," he argued. "I've seen you put it on, you mix at least four of those every day."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I don't see you complaining," she muttered, gently placing some other necessary items into her cosmetic bag

House's phone rang and he groaned, pulling it out of his pocket. He leaned his back against the edge of the counter, lounging next to Cuddy as she continued to pack her things.

"This better be more interesting than what I'm doing right now," he said as he answered the phone. "And what I'm doing involves the word naked, so take that as you will."

Cuddy shook her head as she shot him an unimpressed glare.

House listened as Foreman rattled off a list of symptoms for a new case, sighing as Foreman explained about the twenty-eight year old female who was experiencing shortness of breath, muscle fatigue, and developing a slight fever. She had collapsed during her morning routine on the treadmill, and was admitted to the ER with a fairly severe head wound.

House balanced the phone in one hand, pointing to tube of lipstick with the other. Cuddy shook her head and smirked—it was the color she'd bought when she went shopping with Julia months ago.

He picked it up and handed it to her, darting his eyes to her bag.

Cuddy shot him a sly grin as she placed it into her cosmetic case.

House hung up the phone and groaned, standing up straight as Cuddy zipped shut her cosmetic bag.

"Patient?" she asked, picking up her bag and walking back into her bedroom.

House nodded as he followed her out, watching as she struggled with the zipper to her suitcase—he'd tried to tell her that there was no way she was going to make all those shoes fit.

He smirked when a self-satisfied grin crossed her lips as she zipped it shut.

"Girl fell off her treadmill and banged her head, so naturally Foreman thinks the world is ending."

Cuddy shook her head.

"I'm sure there are other symptoms," she said, brushing her hand over his arm.

He shrugged.

"Only if you count muscle fatigue, shortness of breath, mental confusion, and a slight cough," he rambled off.

Cuddy scoffed.

"Lucky for you, the American Medical Association classifies those as _symptoms_." She lugged her bag from off the bed, slightly wincing at the weight of it.

She really should have listened to him when he told her not to bring so many shoes.

He rolled his eyes as he placed his hand on the top of her suitcase. The other went to her waist, pulling her close to him. She smiled as she placed her hand on his chest.

"I'll carry this to your car if you promise to _call_ me the second you get to your hotel room."

She smirked and pressed a kiss to his lips, gripping his t-shirt in her hand. As she moved her lips against his, she remembered that Addison's flight was getting in three hours after hers. And as she parted her lips, she suddenly remembered just how boring Ohio could be—maybe a new form of entertainment was just what she needed.

* * *

The team was silent, save for huffs of irritation or exhaustion as they looked up at the white board, watching as House paced back and forth in front of them.

Before they could get a handle on what was killing their patient, the twenty-eight year old had experienced sudden kidney failure.

"MRI was clean," said Kutner, looking over the scan for the millionth time.

Thirteen shook her head. "That's because the problem isn't in her brain," she argued. "We've run every test imaginable, her brain is fully functioning."

House furrowed his brow as he continued to pace back and forth.

"There is a giant gash on her head and she can barely remember the date," Taub said, throwing his hand to the side. He looked over at House. "Now maybe that's your idea of a fully functioning brain, but most people would tend to disagree."

Thirteen shook her head.

"What if the fall was a symptom? She was running on the treadmill when she collapsed, the issue could be in her lungs—infection, toxin, maybe even cancer."

"She's a marathon runner, she would have noticed a problem in her lungs," Taub contended.

House paused in his step, turning towards his team. "That's the thing about grave illnesses," said House mockingly, "they usually go unnoticed until you're near death. Or say, falling off a treadmill."

"Even if it's not the brain, the lung CT was clear, "Foreman interjected. "It's most likely an infection, we should treat with broad spectrum antibiotics."

"The disease is too far progressed for that, her kidneys are shutting down. We need to get ahead of this disease before one of her lungs collapses."

Kutner nodded.

"Just because we can't see it doesn't mean it's not there," he suggested. "We need to get a lung biopsy."

"That very same logic could be used to explain the clean MRI!" exclaimed Taub. "We should rule out infection by treating with antibiotics _before_ we put the patient through a dangerous and painful biopsy.

House paused in his step, turning towards Taub and shrugging his shoulders and giving him a mocking look. Taub rolled his eyes as House leaned his head on top of his cane, leaning forward slightly as he gave his employee a patronizing smile.

"Dangerous and painful is better than dead and…I'm having difficulty coming up with a synonym for _dead_," he said, grinning at Taub. "Did you want to give it a go?"

Foreman sighed as he interjected, leaving Taub to huff at the far corner of the table.

"You're going to have to get Reilly's approval for any major surgery," he said.

Reilly was a surgeon that Cuddy had assigned to oversee any incoming case that House might have for the two days she was gone. He had a tendency to ere on the safer side of medicine—which if he had to guess, was the precise reason Cuddy had chosen him.

House rolled his eyes as he considered his options. Folding to Reilly meant folding to Taub, and that wasn't something he was interested in—especially considering the way Taub was sulking.

Sometimes his employees made his job too damn easy.

"Don't need Reilly," House stated. Foreman shot him an incredulous look as House pulled out his cell phone.

"Cuddy isn't going to answer the phone for you," he said. "She told us she would be unavailable for the next two days."

"She'll answer the phone for him," Thirteen muttered, a sly grin on her face as she looked over at the rest of the team, all of whom were stifling a laugh.

House glared at her and she cleared her throat.

"I mean if anyone is going to burn the hospital down its House," she clarified, hoping to cover up her mistake; she wasn't in the mood to deal with House lashing out against her in some sort of attempt at revenge. Especially considering who _she'd_ gone home with that night.

"Go do the biopsy, " House ordered, nodding his head in the direction of the door to his office. "I'll deal with the tyrannical ruling of the hospital. It's a loose synonym for administration," he said, taking note of the irritated looks his team was giving him.

Taub opened his mouth to questions him, causing House to roll his eyes and drop his shoulders as he took the phone to his ear.

"And feel free to waste your time running labs," he called out as his team ushered out the door.

* * *

He smiled to himself as she answered the phone with that irresistibly seductive voice of hers.

"Have you burned my hospital down yet?" she joked, leaning back against the headboard of the hotel bed as she flipped through her itinerary for the next two days.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. "But I did lock Wilson in the morgue for half an hour. He watched a documentary on ghosts the other night and I couldn't think of a better way to scare the crap out of him."

Cuddy let out a slight laugh as she ran a hand through her hair, tossing her schedule to the side as she leaned back into the pillow. She considered asking if him if he was joking or not, but thought better of it.

"How is Reilly doing?" she asked, her voice weary and chalked full with concern.

She didn't trust most people when it came to supervising House—most days, she barely trusted herself.

"No idea," House quipped as he fumbled with the red and grey ball on his desk. "Haven't spoken a word to him."

Even across state lines, he could hear her rolling her eyes on the other end of the phone—he had a pretty good visual, too.

"House," she chastised, shaking her head as she tried to suppress the smile that was forming on her lips. "Reilly is there for a reason, he's supposed to oversee your cases, keep you from doing anything crazy."

"As opposed to all the normal things I do when you're here?"

Cuddy pursed her lips. "You know what I mean," she muttered. "Just try not to kill anyone while I'm gone, okay? And don't bother Alex either, I've already given her a million extra things to do."

House nodded.

"Don't run anything by Reilly, and pester Alex to the point where she considers quitting," he said. "Got it."

Cuddy shook her head.

"That is actually the exact _opposite_ of what I told you."

"Sorry, you were distracting me with your breasts," he said, a smirk forming on his face as he threw the ball up against the wall.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"I'm not even there," she said, her voice husky and deep as she teased him with the slight drop in her voice.

"They're with me in spirit," he joked. Cuddy took a deep breath, worried for a second that he might be trying to…initiate something. She'd been joking around with him before, and while she was fairly adventurous when it came to her sex life, phone sex wasn't something she was entirely comfortable with.

Besides, they'd most likely argue their way through the entire thing, stopping to point out that _he hadn't actually done that yet_, or _no, I'm on top_. Which if she thought about it, could actually be a little fun.

But then she smiled, because he took her by surprise by saying:

"Was your flight okay?"

His voice had fallen to a low whisper, and he'd stopped throwing the ball against the wall. And she couldn't see it, but there was a faint look of concern on his face.

"It was fine," she said, shrugging her shoulders and trying to suppress the smile on her face. "They stopped handing out those free packets of pretzels," she joked.

House smirked.

"The world as we know it is over," he quipped.

"I'm thinking of starting a revolution," she answered, taking a strand of hair in her finger and twirling it, giving him a smile that he couldn't see, but was sure he could picture.

"You've always looked good in red," he fired back, causing her to blush—his observations about her appearance were rarely subtle and free of demeaning metaphors. "Speaking of which," he continued, not dwelling on the compliment he had given her, "has Satan arrived yet?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Just because someone has red hair does not mean you get to call them Satan," she stated. "Besides, you like Addison."

That part was true, at least. Back when she lived in New York—especially in the months before her husband had shipped off to Seattle—Addison had made frequent trips down to New Jersey to visit Cuddy.

"I respect her," he argued.

And that was true—Addison was one of the few people in the world who could perform the type of surgeries that she could

"Even better," Cuddy answered. "I should go, Addison will be here soon and we've got about a thousand seminars to attend."

House nodded.

"Enjoy your weekend of female intimidation," he answered. "I'll be sure to make Reilly so miserable that you'll never be able to leave town again."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Some people would consider that to be holding me hostage."

House shrugged his shoulders, lowering his voice as a small smile crept across his lips.

"I'm a creative romantic," he answered.

Cuddy let out a slight laugh, her face blushing as she said:

"Better than a hopeless one."

And they both paused for a moment, because they were suddenly aware that they were actively missing each other—that he had called her simply because he wanted to, and that it had nothing to do with his patient; he'd been typing an email to Reilly explaining their treatment options and diagnosis while he'd been talking to her—the case was under control.

But their relationship was something neither one of them could get a handle on, and he was worried that in the midst of trying to hold on, they would end up letting go—that they were the hopeless ones in all of this. But as he listened to her laugh on the other end of the phone, he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he hadn't had in a long time: hope.

But he has this theory about hope: it breeds eternal misery.

* * *

Addison flipped through her legal pad, pretending to pay attention to the panel at the front of the room while she looked over at Cuddy, who seemed just as uninterested as she was. They were sitting towards the back of the conference room, after arriving late due to a much too long, but most certainly needed, coffee run.

"I can't believe you're sleeping with House," she said, furrowing her brow as she leaned closer to her friend.

Cuddy rolled her eyes as a sly grin appeared on her face.

"This is hardly the place to talk about this."

"You know what, on second thought, I'm really not all that surprised," she whispered, ignoring the disapproving look Cuddy was giving her. "Although it does beg the question of whether or not you should even be allowed to _attend_ this conference. Empowered female boss sleeping with her hospital's most profitable asset? Maybe I should raise my hand and ask the panel what they think," she joked.

Cuddy scoffed.

"I'll be sure to show them the flow chart of your sexual history with co-workers, " she fired back, giving her friend a joking smile.

Addison cleared her throat as she pushed a strand of her long red hair behind her hear, biting down on her bottom lip as she tried to suppress a smile.

"He still go that whole "wounded, pierce your soul with my eyes while I distract you with the unruly but somehow irresistibly attractive" look going for him?"

Cuddy shook her head in amusement, looking over at the red head while she gave her a knowing look. She simply shrugged and gave her a slight nod.

Addison leaned closer to Cuddy, tugging on the sleeve of her sleek black blazer.

"You would make beautiful children," she teased. "I mean your eyes alone…"

"Stop it," Cuddy ordered, swatting her hand away. "It's not even close to being that serious.

Addison rolled her eyes.

"You've been sleeping with him for almost five months. If you think this isn't serious than you are seriously kidding yourself."

"Sleeping with House and seeing House are two completely different things," Cuddy argued, sighing as she fiddled with the pen in front of her.

"And you're sure you're only doing one of those things?" Addison asked, calling her bluff.

Cuddy opened her mouth to respond, meeting the arched eyebrows and skeptical look of her friend. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding in and grabbed the pen in front of her, tapping it on the desk.

And Addison placed her hand on her forearm and gave her a comforting smile, because she realized that her successful, impeccably dressed and seemingly unattainable friend didn't have an answer to her question.

* * *

"Labs were negative for infections," sad Taub, sighing as he ran a hand across his face. He paused, furrowing his brow as he took in their surroundings. "Is there a reason we're standing in Cuddy's office?"

House shrugged. "While mommy is away…" he said, his voice trailing. In reality, he'd paged his team to her office in hopes of annoying Cuddy's assistant—watching her twirl her hair in frustration was surprisingly satisfying.

House sat in Cuddy's chair, swiveling back and forth as he fiddled with the miscellaneous objects on her desk. He smirked when he caught sight of her penguin paper weight.

Thirteen rolled her eyes at him.

"Lung biopsy was clear, but revealed some inflammation. Which is to be expected in someone who is experiencing shortness of breath," she added curtly.

"Blood pressure is falling at an alarming rate," said Foreman, sighing as he flipped through her chart. "Pretty soon she's going to fall into respiratory arrest, or worse, become septic. Her kidneys are already shutting down, she can't afford to lose any more vital organs."

"Pretty sure nobody can afford to lose vital organs," House snapped, "that's why they're called _vital_. But thanks for your input."

The door opened suddenly, and House smirked, because Alexandra paused in her step, her iPhone pressed up against her ear and a stack of papers in her hand.

"I'm going to have to call you back," she muttered. She looked up and gave House a pointed glare. "One of the doctors has suffered from an aneurism."

Thirteen and Kutner let out a slight laugh as Alex hung up her phone and marched towards House.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked, shooing him out of the way as she placed the stack of papers on Cuddy's desk.

House smirked as he watched Thirteen's eyes linger on Alex.

"Diagnosing," he answered, his eyes darting to the door. "If you'll excuse us," he said, pointing towards the door.

"Get out of Dr. Cuddy's chair," she ordered.

House eyed her suspiciously and she smirked, matching him glare for glare. He stood up, his eyes never leaving hers as he grabbed his cane, a self-satisfied grin on his face. He limped over to Cuddy's couch and plopped down, crossing his ankles over one of the throw pillows.

Alexandra rolled her eyes as she twirled a lock of hair around her finger. Thirteen gave her an apologetic look as she shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm not leaving until you do," she said. "And I have a lot of things to do."

House furrowed his brow.

"You must be really confused if you think your schedule is that important to me, " he said, ignoring the irritated look she was giving him.

Alexandra rolled her eyes as she sat down in Cuddy's chair and began flipping through some of the paperwork.

House paused as he tilted his head to the side, an idea brimming in his mind as he mentally went over the patient's symptoms.

"Taub was right," he mused, ignoring the look of satisfaction on Taub's face. "About the disease, not about the geography. Thirteen was right, the problem is in the lungs."

Taub shook his head.

"A lung diagnosis doesn't explain the mental confusion," Taub argued.

"It does if you have a bacteria in your lungs that affects your mental state," he countered.

"Legionnaires," Kutner exclaimed. "Explains the shortness of breath, the fever, the kidney failure, the problems in the brain."

House nodded.

"Treat with antibiotics and wean her off the dialysis, she'll be fine in a couple of hours."

The team nodded and then made their way out of Cuddy's office, Thirteen giving a slight wave to Alexandra as she shut the door behind her.

House rolled his eyes—he was getting really tired of trying to figure out if the two of them were screwing with him or not.

House stayed on the couch, his fingers pulling at the loose frays as he lay there.

Alexandra shook her head, an amused look forming on her face.

"You miss her," she said in a sing-songy voice, getting up from Cuddy's chair.

House rolled his eyes as he muttered to himself.

Alexandra smirked as she made her way over to him. "Don't worry," she whispered, "I won't tell anyone. But I can think of someone _you_ should tell."

* * *

At midnight, Cuddy picked up her blackberry, careful not to ruin the freshly painted nails on her left hand. She looked over at Addison, who was sound asleep in the opposite bed.

She took a deep breath as she dialed his number.

"Is my hospital still standing?" she asked brazenly, not bothering to greet him with a proper form of hello.

House grinned as he pressed the phone up against his ear, muting the television and pushing his lass of scotch to the side. He leaned back into the couch, noting the time and the slight hint of confidence in her voice. He smirked; Addison almost _always _meant martinis.

"Shouldn't you be out partying with all the other overachieved, sexually repressed, middle aged women?" he asked.

Cuddy let out a slight laugh.

"We ditched that party after about half an hour," she answered. "Besides, the last thing either one of us is are sexually repressed," she teased.

House shuddered a breath, the mental image of the two of them suddenly becoming too much for him. He picked up his glass of scotch, taking a long sip in attempts to clear his mind.

"Did you at least get hit on?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"A medical conference strictly for empowered women does not guarantee lesbians," she retorted.

She picked up her bottle of nail polish and began work on her right hand, balancing her blackberry between her shoulder and her cheek.

"No, " he said mockingly, "simple statistics guarantees that. So what did you do instead, hole yourselves away in your room and watch some incredibly sappy movie?"

Cuddy blushed, sitting up straight as she cast the bottle of nail polish aside—sometimes she hated that he knew her so well.

"We managed to have three martinis first," she countered, refusing to tell him he was right. She lifted her hand to her mouth and gently blew on her nails, knowing that the…_familiar _sound was driving him crazy.

She smirked as she heard the clinking of ice, telling her that he had taken another sip of his scotch.

"We watched _The Way We Were_," she answered, rolling her eyes in defeat. "Addison fell asleep when it ended."

"So you called me," he stated, clearly satisfied with himself.

Cuddy pursed her lips.

"No," she said, drawing the word out as she readjusted herself on the bed, her hair tossing over her shoulder. "I started to paint my nails, and _then _I called you."

She paused, picking up the case to the DVD as if she were inspecting it's contents, convinced that there was some sign, something she had missed in all her years of viewing it that would help her understand.

"You know," she began, placing case next to her, "I've seen that movie almost a thousand times and I still can't believe that Hubbell left Katie in the end."

House groaned—he'd heard this rant countless times over the years.

"I mean yes she was opinionated, and yes they came from different backgrounds, and maybe they didn't work on paper, but who the hell cares about paper?" Her words were slightly slurred and she was talking about a mile a minute, but House simply leaned further back into the couch, content to listening to her speak.

He smirked when her voice returned to a hushed whisper as she realized Addison was asleep a few feet away.

"They loved each other," she said sadly, grabbing the bottle of nail polish and clutching on to it. She carefully unscrewed the top and began to apply a second coat of the deep red lacquer. "I just think it's sad. Don't you think it's sad?"

House paused, suddenly thinking back to that feeling of hope he's had earlier, and how ultimately, it had led to a feeling of hopelessness. Because misery was all he knew, it was all he'd ever known—even when he was happy he was miserable, because he knew the happiness wouldn't last.

Because he was _too_ different—he wasn't like her, he couldn't picture a future of happiness; not when his past was chalked full of misery and loneliness.

Cuddy refused to believe that love couldn't conquer all things, but he—he couldn't afford to think like that.

He sighed as he took another sip of scotch, draining the glass completely.

"It's just a movie Cuddy," he said softly, deciding that was a better answer than what was currently going through his mind. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts out of his mind.

He sat up and pushed his empty glass away.

"Isn't painting your nails while you're drunk a little dangerous?" he asked, teasing her in desperate attempts to change the subject.

Cuddy smirked as she put the finishing touches on the nail to her pinkie finger. "This nail polish is called _Fishnet Stockings_," she answered, lowering her voice and mercilessly teasing him with the added information, "Putting it on was dangerous enough. Besides, I called you didn't I?"

He smirked.

"I'm more dangerous than nail polish?"

Cuddy scoffed.

"Nail polish can be removed," she said pointedly. "You on the other hand…let's just say your marks are a little more permanent." She could practically _hear_ the satisfied smirk that was undoubtedly wiped across his face.

"Don't be so impressed with yourself," she added, placing the bottle of nail polish on the nightstand next to her.

"Do you know what would be even more impressive?" he asked, pausing for a moment but not allowing her to answer. "Actual fishnet stockings."

"Make sure my hospital is sill standing and I'll see what I can do."

House nodded, and for a moment, was taken aback by his own thoughts—because he couldn't decide what he wanted more: to see her in fishnet stockings, or to see her free from scars of his own making.

* * *

Gregory House leaned up against the wall, twirling his cane in his hand as he watched the mass of travelers whoosh past him, children and luggage in tow. He rolled his eyes as he watched a mother of two try to drag her screaming children across the airport terminal.

He hadn't planned on picking her up—in fact, he'd had to distract Alex long enough to get a hold of her flight information—but his case had been solved and it was Wilson's day off, and the clinic was the _last_ place he'd wanted to be, and he'd stopped his list of rationalizations there; though if given time, he was sure he could come up with a hundred other reasons why _he_ was the one who should pick her up from the airport.

He glanced at the flight board, his cane falling to the ground as the word _arrived _lit up in red next to her flight number. One foot was facing the gate, the other facing the crowded pathway lining the airport, and he paused, because he still had a few minutes before she would see him.

He didn't _have _to be there; he could limp away unnoticed, drive back to Princeton and pretend like he'd never made the effort in the first place. He could go on pretending that he wasn't scared of hurting her, that he was emotionless while she was falling for him—that he wasn't going to end up hurt when all this came crashing down.

Because the crash was inevitable; but the variables—the variables he could manipulate, and maybe the both of them would get out unscathed.

He twisted one foot forward, so that they were both facing the direction of the gate, and he straightened up, because he had spotted her out of the corner of his eye.

She was wearing a loose fitting pair of jeans—loose for her, at least—and a striped shirt that seemed to effortlessly flow over her body. Even from a distance, he could spot the pale pink of her lipstick.

He watched as she slung her ridiculously oversized—and overpriced, for that matter—designer bag over her shoulder and pulled out her blackberry as she casually scrolled through her emails.

He saw her blush and pause in her step, and he smirked, because she must have gotten to the texts he had sent her while she was on the plane—he'd given her a…_detailed_ account of ways to make the flight go by faster.

Even _he_ was impressed with the creativity that some of them possessed.

And he knew he'd made the right decision when she finally looked up from her phone and spotted him, her face softening as she smiled lazily at him.

She dropped her phone into her bag and walked towards him, her carry-on suitcase rolling behind her.

"You're picking me up," she stated, although it was more of a question than anything else. She arched an elegant eyebrow at him, her eyes dancing across his face as she searched for any sign of what he was thinking.

He simply shrugged, his eyes darting away for a moment.

"I was in the neighborhood," he answered, smirking at her as he lifted his eyes to meet her.

"It's an hour away," she countered—a futile attempt to get him to admit that he had actually missed her.

He shrugged once more.

"It was either do this or do clinic duty. My chances of getting a little boob action were slightly higher with you."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Glad my breasts could be of service," she muttered, glancing up at him with a sly grin on her face. She placed her hand on his elbow and gripped the material of his wrinkled button down, arching herself towards him.

She placed a gentle kiss on his lips; he was tentative at first, but eventually relaxed into her touch.

"Come on," he said, pulling away from her. "I parked illegally. I would hate for your car to get towed."

She furrowed her brow and gave him a questioning look.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence as he placed his hand on her back and started to lead her away. "Do you have any idea how expensive gas is? I wasn't about to take _my_ car to pick _you _up. Besides, yours has those nice little seat warmers. You know how sensitive I can be to the changing weather," he said mockingly, giving her a pleading look.

She rolled her eyes.

"How did you even get the keys to my car?"

"You keep a spare in the table by your drawer," he answered in that annoyingly obvious way of his.

"You broke into my house?" She turned toward him and bit down on her bottom lip to keep from smiling—she was trying to sound outraged but she knew the look in her eyes was giving her away.

"No," he said, shaking his head and hugging her closer to his side. "I unlocked the door with the key you keep under that ridiculous frog statue."

Cuddy smirked as she fell into step with him.

"That is quite possibly the sweetest most creepiest thing anyone has ever done for me."

He smirked and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Glad I could be of service."

* * *

Cuddy discarded her suitcase by the door, not bothering to unpack it. She took him by the hand and turned so she was facing him. She stepped backwards, a wicked grin on her face as she led him towards her bedroom.

"In case anyone has ever told you you're subtle," he began, letting her drag him across her house, a matching grin on his face, "they were lying to you."

"All men lie to me," she said, shrugging him off. "Lying isn't gender specific."

He smirked at her and paused in his step as he snaked his arm around her waist. "This is so not the time to get all philosophical on me," he muttered, staring her down.

She ignored him and slipped out of her shoes, her hands falling to his chest. She carefully undid the buttons to his shirt, biting down on her lip in concentration, seducing him with every slight move of her mouth and every graze of her finger.

"I have a present for you," she whispered, sliding his shirt off. Her hand paused at his forearm, and she guided it to her waist.

He unbuckled her jeans and pushed them down, watching as she elegantly stepped out of them and lifted her shirt over her head, her hair tossing over her shoulder as she wickedly grinned at him.

He thought his mouth had gone dry when she saw that she was _actually_ wearing fishnet stockings. They stopped mid-thigh and had a black lace top, and if it wasn't for the constriction he felt in his pants, he could have sworn it was all just a dream.

She sat down on the bed, her hands resting at her side as she leaned forward as she consciously squished her boobs together with her arms—tormenting him was simply getting too easy for her.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to find these in an airport?" she asked, her fingers running over the gaping material of her stockings.

He shuddered a breath as he made his way over towards her.

He hovered over her and her hands moved to his waist as she hurriedly unbuckled his jeans.

"I'm pretty familiar with the word hard, Cuddy," he said, gritting his teeth through hallowed breaths as he stepped out of his jeans, smirking at her as his hand slowly ran over her thigh.

She grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled him over her, falling backwards into the sheets, her hair sprawling out behind her. His head fell to her chest, one hand gripping her waist while the other was tracing the lines of her scantily clad thighs—she had a feeling his hand wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

She moaned as his lips traced up her chest, her back arching slightly as the scruff of his stubble rubbed against her porcelain skin, prickling at her in the most tantalizing way; his lips trailed up her throat and he caught her lips in his as he snuck his hand up her waist, pausing below her navel.

He slowly traced his other hand up her thigh, pausing where the lace material ended. He distracted her with another kiss, his lips moving on top of hers in a way that practically _forced_ her to part them, her tongue sliding into his mouth and brushing up against his teeth. He slipped his hand into her stocking, his thumb pressing on her skin as he moved his hand up and down.

Cuddy took a deep breath.

"You're having too much fun with this," she stammered out.

"Like you're not enjoying this," he fired back, his hand gripping the back of her thigh and bringing it over his shoulder.

He kissed up her leg, pausing at the waistline of her black cotton panties that just happened to have a matching lace top—she was even neurotically put together when she was wearing fishnet stocking.

He tugged at the flimsy material with his teeth, smiling to himself as he heard her let out unintelligible moans of pleasure. He dragged her underwear down, replacing the cotton with the stubble of his beard, parting her legs with his available hand. Her hand raked through his hair, gripping and tugging him as he kissed up her folds, sliding his tongue in and out of her every so often.

She shifted underneath him, silently pleading with him to stop teasing her. He started to kiss up her stomach as he moved on top of her, her leg falling from his shoulder to his waist. He lifted her up slightly, almost possessively, his hands gripping the back of her thighs.

His head fell to the crook of her shoulder, and before he entered her, she could have sworn he muttered:

"Missed you."

* * *

_fun facts: fishnet stockings is my favorite essie nail polish color, the naked palette is the best makeup investment I've ever made, and I actually do know a girl named Shadow. Let me know you thoughts!_

_-Alison_


	9. Ima

_A/N: I know I know, the wait was slightly longer than usual, but this chapter is fairly important, so I wanted to do my best. Like I said in the last chapter, I'm now writing this story on a chapter-to-chapter basis, and the amount of time I have to write is dependent on how much school work I have that week. But hopefully the next one will be up soon. Until then, enjoy!_

* * *

Gregory House limped towards Cuddy's office, bypassing nurses with wandering eyes and slipping past the clinic. He paused at Alexandra's desk, who was typing away at her computer, her eyes flicking up towards him for a brief moment.

"You can go in," she said somewhat distracted, "she's expecting you."

House nodded.

"Hold her calls for the next ten minutes," he ordered, leaning in closer to her desk. Alexandra looked up from her computer and narrowed her eyes at him—now that their relationship was somewhat out in the open, House had been even _less _concerned with his slightly inappropriate comments. "You know what, better make it twenty. You never know what kind of mood she's in."

Alexandra rolled her eyes.

"Women," she deadpanned, lifting her eyes towards him and arching her eyebrow slightly.

He smirked at her before making his way into Cuddy's office.

He barged through her door, pushing it open with his cane and a determined look on his face, his eyes following her as she moved across the room, her brow furrowed and her hand running through her hair in frustration every ten seconds.

House raised his eyebrows at her, twisting his cane on the floor as she lifted up her head in acknowledgement, giving him a slight smile. She walked over to her desk and leaned over reaching for something on the other side.

"Did you call me down here so I could stare at your ass?" he asked. "Because the time to do that would have been yesterday—I'm pretty sure you skirt was half an inch shorter and much tighter."

Cuddy shook her head and turned around, arching her eyebrow at him as she leaned up against her desk.

"Tighter shirt though," he mused, tilting his head to the side and closing his eyes. "Give me a minute, I'm trying to picture you in yesterday's skirt and today's top."

Cuddy scoffed and straightened up; he smirked at her before giving her an innocent look.

"I have to cancel our plans tonight," she said, a hint of sadness—that was covered up by irritation—in her voice. "I have a family…thing."

He eyed her skeptically.

"You don't have family things," he pointed out, causing her to scoff and raise an elegant eyebrow at him, waiting for the mocking that was undoubtedly about to ensue. "You're not being forced to attend some lame elementary school production of Fiddler on the Roof are you?" he asked.

"Does continually pointing out the fact that I'm Jewish bring you that much satisfaction?" she asked, perturbed, narrowing her eyes at him. He smirked at her and she sighed, defeated—she hadn't planned on telling him the truth about the weekend. "My mom and my sister are coming over to celebrate my dad's birthday. Usually we have it at my mom's, but she said something about a busted pipe, and after about ten subtle comments about how Julia "has a family to take care of", I volunteered to host. So I'm spending all afternoon morning making sure my house is presentable. Satisfied?"

He tilted his head to the left and gave her a wary look.

"But your dad is dead," he deadpanned, twisting his cane on the floor. "And parts of me are very, very alive."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and sucked in her breath, giving him an unimpressed glare.

"Thank you for that very gentle reminder," she muttered, disregarding the second half of his comment. "I just thought I would tell you." She leaned back against her desk and sighed, running a hand through her hair while tugging at her skirt with the other.

She bit down on her bottom lip and closed her eyes, her shoulders falling slightly.

"You're stressed," he pointed out, grinning at her—she hated that he was taking pleasure in this.

Cuddy shook her head, opening her eyes to meet the grin that was plastered across his face; and she didn't know why, but she suddenly relaxed—even if it was just for a moment.

"I'm not," she argued confidently, shaking her head and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

He smirked; she'd always been an expert when it came to lying to herself.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," he countered, shrugging his shoulders. "Family stresses everyone out."

"Even you?" she asked, arching eyebrow. She straightened up, folding her arms over her chest as she awaited the question she had been dying to know the answer to for years; because yes she was intimidated by her mother, and yes her sister irritated her beyond belief, and yes she missed her dad more than anything in the world—but these were all normal things to be feeling.

The fear of not being good enough, knowing that your successes were overlooked; these were things that plagued her thoughts and sparked countless nights of restless sleep—but the question was, deep down, did he feel the same?

He shrugged nonchalantly.

"Would that make you feel better about the fact that you truly don't love your sister?" Cuddy scoffed, rolling her eyes as she shook her head.

"I did not say—"

"Call me when you're in the mood to be de-stressed," he said, smirking as he turned to walk out the door.

Cuddy laughed lightly, watching as he limped out of her office with that irresistible smirk of his plastered across his face; she straightened up and walked over to the other side of her desk, thinking to herself that maybe having Gregory House as her permanent de-stressor wouldn't be such a bad thing.

* * *

A few hours later, Lisa Cuddy swept her brown locks into a ponytail, pieces falling in front of her eyes as she sighed, her hands tugging at the loose fitted gray tank top that hung off her body. She looked down and checked her watch, sighing once more as she realized the time—she'd left work over three hours, sneaking out after a board meeting at eleven, and had been cleaning ever since.

She spotted her yoga mat in the corner of her living room and smiled, because she'd been struggling to find the time for it lately. Her toes curled up in anticipation as she grabbed the mat from the corner and laid it out in front of her.

Cuddy sighed, pursing her lips, feeling her pale pink lipstick smudge as she took a few deep breaths. She lifted her foot in the air, feeling the stress leave her body as she clasped her freshly manicured hands around her foot and stretched it into the air, her body bending to the curve of her movements.

She slowly bent down, her knees falling to the mat before she stretched out onto her stomach, arching her back as she supported her weight with her hands, her head held high as she gradually moved up. She reached behind her and grabbed her ankles, taking a deep breath as she arched her back even further, her chest poking out and her shoulders rolling into her back.

About ten minutes into her routine, she heard the faint sound of knocking on her door.

Her head fell and her shoulders slumped, and she sighed as she got up to answer her door. She readjusted the lace bralette she'd hastily thrown on under her tank top and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear before turning the knob.

A faint smile breached her lips as she spotted his cane out of the corner of her eye; he smirked at her, his cane falling from her door to the ground. His eyes wandered up and down, taking in her unusually casual attire and the beads of sweat that were graced across her chest.

"You are _seriously_ freaking out about this," he said, taking a few steps towards her door; she opened it slightly and let him in, moving to the side as he walked past her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, closing her door and turning to face him; he had that _smirk_ on again, and she had to force herself from smiling. "I told you I was busy."

He shrugged.

"Is Mama Cuddy here now?" He dramatically moved his head to the side and started to walk around her house, making a show of his attempts to peak into every room.

"No, but—"

He paused and set his cane on up against the wall.

"Then you're not _too_ busy, are you?"

Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him and sucked in her breath, a smile forming on her lips. She folded her arms across her chest, shoulders squared as the confidence returned to her voice.

"They're going to be here in two hours," she stated. "I don't have time to play whatever game it is that you've come up with."

Her hair, which was slightly falling out of its hastily tied back bun, was sticking to her forehead, and House had half a mind to sweep it away so that her flickering grey orbs would meet his—her eyes had always been the thing that gave her away—but he refrained.

He stuck his hands in his pockets instead.

"No game," he said, shrugging, "patient." He met her credulous look—he wasn't holding a scan, and she furrowed her brow and reached behind her to undo the bun in her hair.

She ran a hand through her locks, taming down the slight curls as she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Need to remove a tumor," he said matter-of-factly, sucking in his breath as her hair fell in front of her face; he deiced she really needed to stop doing that if she wanted him to concentrate on anything else.

"Where are the scans?"

He shrugged.

"Don't need them." She folded her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows at him. "I have them, but you don't need to look at them, because you're going to say it's inoperable. And you see I had my cane in one hand, and my backpack in the other…and it seemed like such a waste to try and carry three things at once."

She held her hand up and pursed her lips, moving towards him. She flicked her eyes up, a smug look on her face.

"If you wanted to spy on me, you could have just called." He leaned his head towards her and she smirked, her hand tracing up the collar of his shirt.

"Where's the fun in that?" he mused, letting her drag him into her living room. His hand went to her waist, sliding underneath her grey tank top.

His thumb pressed into her skin as he gripped her waist.

"If you want me to sign off on this surgery," she muttered, her hand moving from the collar of his shirt to the base of his neck, "I'm going to need to see some scans."

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, tightening his grip on her waist.

"I already emailed them to you," he muttered against her lips, guiding her to the couch that was behind them.

She settled her hand on his shoulder and pulled away wriggling out of his grasp; he gave her a defeated look, and she shrugged as she grabbed her laptop from the coffee table.

"I told you," she said, placing a hand on his forearm, "I don't have time. I still have to shower before they get here."

She opened her laptop and fell into the cushions of her couch, scooting over to make room for him. She smirked as he begrudgingly followed and settled in next to her.

He draped his hand across her legs and she leaned forward, her eyes squinting as she looked at the image on her screen.

"This tumor is inoperable," she said.

House shrugged.

"I know. I told you that three minutes ago. I believe my exact words were _you're going to say it's inoperable_."

She squinted even further, her mouth hanging slightly open. "I've never seen anything like this," she whispered, her eyes growing wide as she leaned back. "The tumor's wrapped around the spinal cord, there's possible hemangio gilioblastoma—is the patient even walking?"

House nodded.

"Perfectly healthy. Minus the whole tumor wrapped around her spine." Cuddy shut the laptop and turned towards him, giving him an earnest look, his hands lightly gripping her thigh. "Patient is a nineteen year old girl who came in with a headache and is possibly leaving with a tumor," he said softly. "I send her home, she dies in a month. If the surgery is successful, she'll live a normal, miserable life just like the rest of us."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"This is beyond Taub or Chase's skill set," she said, slightly defeated; surgeons rarely every volunteered to do any favors for House, and he would be hard pressed to find a doctor willing to perform a surgery that had about a five percent chance of working.

"Surgeons are cocky," House argued, "and this tumor—"his voice broke off and he paused, bringing a hand to his head. "This is the type of tumor they dream of. It's practically impossible, so they all think they can do it."

Cuddy sighed and bit down on her bottom lip. He flattened his palm on her thigh and gave her a pleading look. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to say something when she heard the jiggling of her doorknob.

"What the hell was that?" she asked.

She cursed inwardly when she spotted her mother's car parked on the side of the street. She threw House's hand off her thigh and shot up from the couch, ushering him up.

"You can't be here," she hissed.

House took his time getting up. "And yet here I am," he teased.

She rolled her eyes as her door opened, and she paused unsure of what to do. Arlene walked into her home with Julia in tow, neither one of them bothering to look up; they were each carrying a bag full of groceries, and Cuddy rolled her eyes, because she had assured them _she_ would get everything they needed—which she had.

"Lisa darling, sorry we're early. I just assumed you wouldn't have the time to get to the store. So your sister and I went and—"

Cuddy's eyes darted back to House and she gave him a nervous look; they were in the hallway, and must not have spotted him yet.

"I tried to tell her she was being dramatic," called Julia.

Arlene and Julia walked into the living room, eyes widened and mouths hung open slightly aghast.

"Sorry," Julia stammered out, giving her sister and impressed smile, "we didn't know you would have—"

"Who's your friend?" Arlene interrupted, her eyes darting towards House. House stepped forward, putting on that annoyingly charming boyish grin of his, and reached his hand out towards Arlene.

"Greg House," he stated, gently shaking her hand and standing up straight, standing dangerously close to Cuddy. "I do my best work underneath your daughter."

Cuddy's eyes widened and Julia stifled a laugh, raising her eyebrows at her sister.

"I'm his boss," she covered up, ignoring the smug look on Julia's face. "He needed a consult."

Arlene nodded and gave them a skeptical look, muttering something about cell phones and email and professional etiquette. Julia placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder, sighing as Arlene made her way into Cuddy's kitchen.

"I see you managed to make it to the store," Arlene called from the kitchen. House smirked as Cuddy brought a hand to her temple. "Although this isn't exactly the cut of meat I would have chosen."

"The cut is fine Mom," Cuddy said, shaking her head at Julia. She lowered her voice and sent her sister a glaring look. "Will you go in there please?"

Julia sighed and went to turn around, only to find Arlene had walked back into the living room. Her head was turning in all directions, as if she were inspecting Cuddy's home.

Arlene pursed her lips and folded her arms over her chest.

"I don't need a babysitter," she said. Her eyes looked Cuddy up and down, brow furrowed and eyes glaring. "Is that what you're wearing to dinner?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes and House smirked, turning towards Cuddy. "I should go," he said.

She nodded and gave him an apologetic glance. "Get Forbes to do the surgery," she ordered.

"Patterson is better," he countered, baiting her with every word; he wondered how she would handle him in front of her mom and sister.

"No," she said, stressing the word as a knowing smile breached her lips, "Patterson is easier to manipulate. Forbes is a better surgeon anyway. Him or nobody at all."

"_Mom,"_ he pouted, simply for the sake of grating her nerves. She glared at him. "Fine," he said, picking up his cane and walking towards the door. "I'll let you know if the girl croaks on the table or not."

Cuddy shook her head.

"I have an idea," Arlene interjected, "why don't you stay for dinner?"

Cuddy's eyes widened and House paused, one hand on the doorknob and his feet firmly planted on the ground. He looked over at Cuddy, who seemed to be even more opposed to the idea then he was.

Having dinner with her mom was stressful enough; add House to the mix, and she'd rather spend the next four hours wiping the chairman of the board's ass.

"Mom, I don't think that's such a good idea," said Julia, taking note of House and Cuddy's terrified expressions.

Arlene ignored them and waved her daughter off.

"Nonsense, it's a perfect idea." Arlene gave one of those insincere smiles, but Cuddy didn't dare refuse; the last time she's outwardly disagreed with her mother's opinion, she'd almost gotten kicked out of Julia's wedding.

House scoffed and released his hand from the door.

"You don't know me very well, do you?" he asked. Julia widened her eyes and brought a hand to her chest, scoffing at the arrogance and lack of subtlety that House seemed to possess.

"House is busy," Cuddy said, clearing her throat and giving her best authoritative tone. "His patient is about to undergo surgery, and he should really be with her. It's a very…sensitive case," she said through clenched teeth.

"Is he performing the surgery himself?" Arlene asked, raising an eyebrow at her daughter.

Cuddy sighed, defeated. She looked over at House, who was staring longingly at the door.

"Well no, but he couldn't possibly want to—"

"Mom," Julia interjected sternly, "this is more of a family thing, and I don't think Lisa wants—"

Arlene held up her hand and rolled her eyes, silencing both of her daughters, negating their objections.

"Honestly girls I find this tradition to be a little too nostalgic for my tastes, but it's the only way to pull Lisa away from work."

House smirked as he saw Cuddy mumble something incoherent under her breath. He watched as she fidgeted with the watch on her wrist and took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders to fend off her mother's fighting words.

"I don't know how many times we have to go over this I _run_ a hospital."

Arlene pursed her lips and Julia sighed, running hand through her hair; she was about as tired as hearing this argument as Cuddy was having it.

"That's very nice dear but it doesn't change the fact that you barely have time for anything else," she retorted.

"You know I hate to interrupt," House said, feet still firmly planted on the hardwood floor.

"House, just go home," Cuddy pleaded, clenching her fists in frustration.

"Yes," said Arlene, giving him a smile. "Go home, change your shirt, and come back in two hours." Cuddy glared at her mother, and Arlene nodded towards the door, ushering him out. She turned towards Cuddy. "Are you going to walk the man out?"

"Mom," Julia muttered, eyes flaring. Arlene gave her an innocent look and shrugged her shoulders.

House gave Cuddy an expectant look, grinning smugly at her as she walked towards him and opened up the door.

"Splendid meeting you all," he said mockingly, smirking as Cuddy glared at him.

But he did smile when she placed her hand on his shoulder and led him out the door.

* * *

"I swear I didn't put her up to this," she muttered once they'd reached his motorcycle.

House shrugged.

"Does she know that we're…" he paused, once again finding himself in that awkward place where he couldn't find the words to describe what they were doing.

Cuddy shook her head. "I didn't tell her," she answered; but she had to know _something_, she had to suspect, because as much as her mother enjoyed making her life miserable, she didn't go out of her way to be friendly with people she didn't know.

"Did you tell your sister?"

"Please," Cuddy scoffed. She leaned against the seat of his motorcycle and folded her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes as she spoke. House shuddered a breath as his eyes scanned up and down her body. "Listen, you don't have to actually come. I can tell her you had an emergency at the hospital—which you kind of do," she realized, turning her head towards him. "You can't abandon your patient with a surgeon she doesn't know just so you can have dinner with my mother."

He shook his head. "I can't possibly allow you to lie to your own mother. It would be beneath me," he said mockingly, reaching behind her to set his cane in the latch on his bike. She rolled her eyes. "Besides, it's a ten hour surgery. My team can handle it for a while."

Cuddy sighed and leaned off of his bike, turning to face him. "Fine, you can come. But you're bringing Wilson," she added brazenly; the more buffers the better, and Julia simply wouldn't cut it.

He eyed her skeptically. "What reason would I have to do that?"

She shrugged.

"You'll think of something," she answered, smiling at him. Her hand moved to the bottom of his wrinkled button down, and she let out a slight laugh, because her mother was under the impression that House owned a shirt that _wasn't_ wrinkled. She tugged at it, brining him closer to her. "Wear the pink shirt," she whispered, smiling up at him.

"Can't," he answered, smirking down at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Why?"

"Because you _stole_ it," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist. He wasn't sure if they could be seen or not, but Cuddy didn't seem to mind, so he pressed his lips to hers.

Cuddy relaxed into the kiss, her lips gently pressed against his, her palm flat against his chest.

"Blue works too," she murmured, pulling away from him.

And as she watched him drive away, she couldn't help but wonder if he would actually come back.

* * *

Two hours, an unusually long shower, and countless attempts to thwarts off her mother's questioning looks later, Lisa Cuddy sat down at her dining room table, a glass of wine that she made sure was _never_ empty placed in front of her.

House had—surprisingly or unsurprisingly, she wasn't quite sure which—showed up, wearing his blue-button down that was maybe slightly less wrinkled than normal, and Wilson in tow, who seemed just about as taken aback by the situation as she was.

She had never seen her mother so _silent. _Arlene was sitting across from them, picking at her food and sending insincere smiles to everyone at the table every so often; she was especially interested in Wilson, who didn't quite know what to say when Arlene pressed him about what exactly he was doing there. She raised an eyebrow at her daughter when she grabbed Wilson by the arm and insisted she had invited him.

House was sitting next to her, the two of them exchanging awkward glances every once in a while. Cuddy brought her glass of wine to her lips, smiling as she felt House nudge her knee with his underneath the table.

She turned her head towards him and smirked, noticing the words he had been spelling out on his plate with his peas; he'd written out _abscess_, and she wondered if he was going to make it all the way through the Dictionary of Infectious Diseases by the time they'd gotten through dinner.

Cuddy rolled her eyes and took another sip of wine as she felt her sister eyeing from across the table; although Julia's deep brown eyes were far less threatening than her mother's icy blue ones.

"How's your patient?" Wilson asked, the first one to break the silence as he turned towards House.

House shrugged and grabbed Cuddy's wrist, tilting it so that he could see the time; Cuddy's lack of opposition to his touch did not go unnoticed by Arlene and Julia.

"Two hours of surgery down, eight to go," he answered nonchalantly. "If she makes it past hour six it will be a miracle."

Julia's eyes widened at House's admission. Cuddy sent her a warning glare and turned towards Wilson.

"Did you see the tumor? It's unlike anything I've ever seen. Smart, knew exactly the spots it should curve into. I'll have to give Forbes a raise if he manages to get it out."

Arlene scoffed in the corner, throwing her fork down as she muttered:

"You talk as if it has a mind of its own. It's a tumor, not a human being. And it's not appropriate dinner conversation."

Cuddy bent her head down sheepishly, her eyes shifting towards House, who was reaching for his own glass. Wilson cleared his throat and looked awkwardly around the table.

"You know some tumors have actually been found to have—"Arlene sent him an icy glare, and he immediately stopped his train of thought. "So," he began again, clearing his throat once more, "whose idea was this? It's, um…it's nice. Respectful," he added.

Julia let out a slight smile, gesturing to Cuddy with her fork. "I think it was Lisa's idea," she said. "She was always dad's favorite," she teased.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"I was not," she argued. "Dad and I just had a different relationship than the two of you."

Julia scoffed.

"You used to talk to Dad in Hebrew just to show off."

Wilson's head perked up, turning towards her. "You speak Hebrew?"

"No," Cuddy answered, shrugging him off. Arlene silently sipped on her wine, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows. House eyed her suspiciously, mimicking her actions.

"You called him Abba!" Julia retorted a hint of laughter in her voice; she was trying to seem good-natured, but her tone and subtle demeanor was more berating than she anticipated. "I called him that once and he told me I was pronouncing it wrong."

House gave her a fake smile and took a sip of his wine. As he set it back on the clothed table, he tilted his head, giving her a pointed look as he said:

"That's probably because you were." Julia leaned back in her chair, taken aback by his words. House turned towards Arlene. "And you," he began accusingly, "if you didn't want to hear about tumors and surgeries and death you probably shouldn't have invited a doctor. Or had a doctor for a daughter. And based on your snide comments and not-so-subtle digs, I'd guess that you wish you hadn't."

Cuddy laid her hand on House's forearm, glaring at him as she stood up. "Who wants dessert?" she asked, picking up Julia's plate even though she wasn't nearly done with it.

"Are you always this abrasive?" Arlene asked, keeping her composure. "It's very unbecoming."

"Lucky for me, I'm not big on being _becoming_," House fired back.

Arlene rolled her eyes.

"You know absolutely nothing about the relationships I have with my daughters. Although you seem very interested in the one I have with Lisa. Why's that?"

"Mom," Julia interjected, giving her sister an apologetic look; it really hadn't been her intention to spark such lively debate. "Just leave it alone. Help Lisa clean up."

Cuddy shook her head. "I've got it," she said coolly, walking past the table and into the kitchen.

House felt Wilson nudge him underneath the table, his head tilted to the side and his eyes widened in Cuddy's direction. "Go," he hissed. Arlene raised her eyebrows at him. "I just mean uh…he should go apologize to her, for—for being so abrasive, as you put it."

House rolled his eyes at Wilson. "I don't know why she insisted on me brining you," he muttered. "You're useless."

He got up and limped towards the kitchen, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from Julia and leaving Wilson to awkwardly twiddle his thumbs.

* * *

"Okay, see if you had told me _Satan_ would be joining us for dinner, I would have stayed at the hospital," he whispered, hovering close to her.

Cuddy shook her head as she scrubbed a plate. "I tried to tell you," she answered, shrugging him off. "Look, my mother is a handful who thinks I throw myself into my job to compensate for my lack of a personal life," she said robotically; he assumed she'd heard the speech before. She turned towards House and handed him the plate. "What you witnessed in there is nothing that I haven't heard before."

He wordlessly took the plate from her, and she gave him a slight smile before leaning her head towards the dining room, checking to see if they were out of sight. She placed her hand on his foreman.

"But it was very sweet of you to try and defend me."

He gave her a small smile and shrugged.

"It was really more about me, " he said jokingly. "Wouldn't want her to get the wrong impression—considering I actually _am _abrasive and unbecoming."

Cuddy smirked and ran her hand up his arm, placing it on his shoulder. "You're not so bad," she whispered.

Her hand flew away from his shoulder as she heard her mother clear her throat from the other end of the kitchen; she and Julia had snuck out without either one of them noticing.

"Are we interrupting anything?" Arlene asked, the fake sincerity present in her voice once again. Cuddy rolled her eyes once more; she'd bet her entire life savings that her mother had waited for the moment she placed her hand on him to make her presence known.

"I know this looks inappropriate, but I'm really just holding a plate," House joked, giving Arlene the biggest grin he could possibly muster.

Cuddy glared at him.

Julia stepped forward, looking back at her mother. "Mom and I can clean all this up, Lise. You guys go sit with your friend." Her voice fell to a whisper as she reached House and Cuddy. "I think Mom scared him into muteness."

Cuddy nodded and urged House out of the kitchen, her eyes begging him not to say another word. Arlene gave them a pointed look as they walked past her, the both of them refusing to make eye contact.

Once they were out of earshot, Arlene walked over to her other daughter, pushing her sleeves up and reaching into the sink for a plate. She turned on the water and looked over at Julia.

"Think she's sleeping with him?" she muttered; Julia was having trouble deciding if she was insulted or impressed with the thought.

Julia's eyes lingered into the living room, where House and Cuddy were standing dangerously close to each other; Cuddy was laughing about something, and Wilson was shaking his head in slight amusement—or maybe it was disgust, she couldn't quite tell.

Julia looked back to her mother.

"Definitely. He's been undressing her with his eyes the entire night."

Arlene scoffed. "I noticed, it was making me very uncomfortable" Arlene paused and pursed her lips, placing a clean dish on the side of the sink, and Julia scoffed, because she said it in a way that made her think she wasn't all that upset by the situation. "You should talk to her," she continued, "she might listen to you."

Julia shook her head.

"That'll be the day."

* * *

House and Wilson had cleared out about an hour later. Wilson awkwardly thanked Arlene for dinner—which caused Cuddy to roll her eyes good-naturedly, considering _she_ was the one who had done everything.

She told House to call her later about his patient, knowing they'd spend all of thirty seconds talking about it, and then move on to something else. Arlene and Julia were staying in a hotel and were leaving the next morning, but Julia usually stayed over pretty late; it was virtually impossible for her to sneak over to House's apartment later.

Cuddy lounged on the couch, her feet tucked underneath her as she searched for something on tv. She sighed, turning it off when she realized there was nothing on. Julia sat down next to her, sighing as she placed a carton of Ben and Jerry's on the coffee table.

"We deserve it," said Julia, pointing at the pint of Cherry Garcia on the table. Cuddy smirked and picked it up, silently agreeing with her. "So tell me," urged Julia, dipping her spoon into the ice cream, "what exactly is going on with you and House?"

Cuddy sighed, taking a bite of ice cream. "Was it that obvious?" she asked, her head falling to the cushion. Her shoulders dropped in defeat as she sucked on the spoon.

"You weren't exactly being subtle about it," Julia muttered, raising her eyebrows. "Mom told me to beat it out of you if necessary."

Cuddy brought a hand to her temple and took another bite of ice cream. "Mom knows?" Julia nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile. "What did she say?"

"You know mom, she laces what she really means underneath sarcasm and passive aggressiveness." Cuddy narrowed her eyes and gave her a pointed look. Julia sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "She thinks you're kind of a slut. But she said it in a way that almost sounded like a compliment."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and sat up, reaching for the ice cream once more.

"So," Julia said, sinking into the couch cushions and giving her sister a knowing smile. "Are you guys dating?"

"No," Cuddy stated.

"On the verge of dating?"

Cuddy shrugged.

"Doubtful."

Julia furrowed her brow and gave her a questioning look.

"So you really are just fucking, then?" she asked, eyebrows raised and her spoon looking as if it were about to fly out of her hand.

Cuddy shook her head and sighed, sitting up straight and pushing the pint of ice cream away. "No," she countered, giving her sister a comforting look, "it's not like that—we're friends."

"Who occasionally have sex?" Julia stated, finishing her thought.

"Occasionally is putting it lightly," she muttered.

"Okay, I'm starting to think Mom was on to something with that whole slut thing," Julia joked, letting out a slight laugh.

Cuddy laughed along and gave her a weak smile; the fire was crackling in the corner, and it was making her feel warm and safe, away from the prying and slightly judgmental eyes of her mother. And it had been ages since she'd gotten to spend time alone with her sister, and she did miss her—no matter how often she took her mother's side.

"It's hard to explain," she said softly, almost dreamily. Julia's face softened at her tone. "Everyone is telling me that I'm making a mistake, but it doesn't—it doesn't _feel_ wrong. It feels…right in some ways."

"Lisa," he sister said warmly, her hand extending out to her forearm. Cuddy sighed and took a deep breath.

"And we're always on the verge of opening up when one of us shuts down or makes a joke, and I just wish…sometimes I wish I hadn't even come up with the idea in the first place."

Julia paused. "It was your idea?"

"For all intents and purposes," she muttered. "Remember that terrible date I went on months ago? The one where his wife showed up halfway through my salad?" Julia nodded and let out a light laugh at the memory. Cuddy smiled and shook her head. "Well I ran into House at a bar a couple of hours later, and I had a few martinis and then…well you know how it goes."

Julia nodded and smirked, thinking back to the days before she's gotten married.

"And neither one of us wanted to admit we wanted something more," she continued, taking a deep breath as she remembered the look on his face that morning, " so I suggested we just…not worry about defining it."

"You sound like a lovesick twenty-five year old who's fallen for the guy who rebels against his parents and rides a motorcycle," Julia said, laughing her way through her sentence.

Cuddy gave her a weak smile. "That's probably because I was running around like an overworked thirty-five year old when I was _actually _twenty-five."

Julia nodded and reached for the pint of ice cream, ignoring the pleading eyes from her sister. She opened the top and dipped her spoon in, shoving it towards Cuddy. Cuddy smiled and took another bite.

"Is he going to break your heart?" Julia asked, her eyes soft and wondering.

Cuddy sighed, taking another bite of ice cream; the cold hit her mouth, trickling down her throat and awakening her senses. And there was a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, because she was caught in a place she didn't know how to get out of; she didn't know what was going to happen, or who was going to get hurt in the end. She felt like she was suffocating, as if her entire world was crumbling right in front of her and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

And she wasn't sure what would hurt more; stopping it now and facing her real feelings, or allowing them to continue on, burying their thoughts with every painfully satisfying kiss.

She took a deep breath and faced her sister.

"I don't know, probably."

* * *

She'd gone to bed an hour after Julia had left, but sleep hadn't come. She tossed and turned in her sheets, her thoughts plaguing her mind as the minutes passed on the clock. House had called her an hour ago, but she couldn't bring herself to answer the phone.

He didn't bother to leave a voicemail, and she'd spent the next half-hour debating on whether or not she should call him back. But she knew that if she did, she wouldn't be able to hide what was going through her mind, and that wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in the middle of the night.

And the feeling of suffocation returned, because the solution to her problems was staring her straight in the face, but fear and doubt were always in the back of her mind, stopping her from having the conversation she so desperately needed.

Because there were certain things she needed to say, but more importantly, there were certain things she needed to hear—and she could only guarantee one of those things.

She looked over at the clock; it was just past two in the morning, and there was a good chance he was still awake—the surgery on his patient would have just ended. And when she went to reach for her cell phone, she realized her keys were sitting right next to it.

Her eyes darted between the two, and she nervously bit down on her bottom lip.

Cuddy threw the covers off of her, reached for her keys, changed her shirt, and put on the first pair of jeans she could find. She threw a few things in her purse and slung it over her shoulder, not bothering to look back as she walked out her door.

* * *

He was on his second glass of scotch when he heard a familiar knock on his door. He set the glass down on his coffee table, deciding that he could forgive her for ignoring his call if it meant she came over unannounced in the middle of the night.

He opened the door and gave her a slight smile.

He looked at her, keys in hand and a nervous smile on her face. She folded her arms over her chest after tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, biting down on her lip as she lifted her eyes towards him.

He eyed her suspiciously, waiting for her to make the first move.

"Let's get out of here," she finally said, nodding in the direction of her car. She made a mental list of the things in her purse; wallet, lipstick, mascara, a barely used eye shadow palette-that would last her for a day at least.

"Where are we going?" he asked, looking her up and down. He'd never seen her like this; she was anxious and excited and impulsive all at once, and he was sure this wasn't what was going through her mind as she drove over to his apartment.

"Anywhere," she answered, slightly defeated as a sigh escaped her lips and her pleading eyes met his skeptical ones. She handed the keys to him. "Just drive."

He nodded and took the keys from her, grabbing his leather jacket and placing a comforting hand on her back before leading her out the door.

* * *

_A/N: Can you say road trip? Leave me your thoughts!_

_ps: for those wondering, "Ima", means Mom in Hebrew. _

_-Alison_


	10. Waves

_A/N:_ The wait for this was longer than usual, I know. I suck. But I'm in the home stretch of my sophomore year of college, so the updates and future stories will be coming much quicker for the next few months. (yes, future stories!) This chapter mainly consists of fluff, but there are some pretty major conversations laced underneath it all.

Also, it has come to my attention that I posted the un-betad version of my last chapter. Sorry about that.

Enjoy!

(Also, this is unbetad. Angel-faced Flynn is asleep and I wanted to post this as soon as I finished)

* * *

"Hey," said House, nudging her knee with the palm of his hand. Cuddy shifted in her seat, her eyes closed as her head rested against the window. "Wake up. You dragged me out at two in the morning, the least you can do is entertain me."

Cuddy sighed deeply, a small smile escaping her lips. "I'm awake," she said tiredly.

House scoffed and forced himself to return his eyes to the completely deserted road. Cuddy was curled up in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the window and her palm acting as a makeshift pillow. Her hair was shielding her face from him, but he could just make out the curve of her lips through the strands.

"Your eyes are closed," he stated. She smiled sheepishly as she readjusted.

"I'm resting them."

House rolled his eyes.

"I'm pulling over, you need coffee," he said, turning the wheel abruptly so not to miss the nearest exit. He smirked as she immediately jolted up, rubbing the side of her neck that had been uncomfortably pressed up against the side of the car.

Cuddy's eyes fluttered open and she sighed, turning towards him in her seat as she stifled a yawn. "I thought the point of this was to just drive," she muttered, sitting up straight and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

She shivered and reached for a sweatshirt that was lying at her feet, smiling as she put it on; it had the faint smell of _him_.

"You forfeited the right to make up the rules the second you handed me the keys," he said pointedly. "That was mistake number one."

Cuddy scoffed, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"And mistake number two?"

She eyed him suspiciously, trying to figure out if he was referring to something she'd already done or something he knew she'd_ eventually_ do—sometimes she despised how well he knew her.

She met his gaze as he shrugged, smirking at her; he had to know this was driving her crazy.

"And ruin all the fun?" he asked, poking fun at her. "Not a chance."

Cuddy paused as House pulled the car into a slightly run down convenient store.

"What are you doing?" she asked, frowning as he stopped the car.

House rolled his eyes, putting the car in park and turning towards her. "Did you not hear the part where I said we were pulling over?"

"I didn't think you meant….this," she said, tapping on the window. "This looks like it's straight out of a horror film."

House smirked as he looked around; the area was essentially deserted and it was nearing 2:30 in the morning.

"Don't worry, my cane and I will protect you," he joked. He sighed as he watched her bite down on her bottom lip and gaze out the window tentatively. "Cuddy, relax. It's one of those overnight trucker stops. Everyone is just asleep."

She sighed as she watched him open the door to her car. Deciding she'd rather not sit in the car by herself, Cuddy opened the door, smiling as she saw that House was leaning up against the passenger door. She tugged on the arms of the sweatshirt she was wearing and stifled a yawn.

He placed his hand on her back, his thumb rubbing up against the material of the sweatshirt. She tried not to smile as she leaned into his touch.

They walked into the gas station, receiving slightly questioning looks from the guy manning the register. Cuddy cleared her throat and headed for the coffee machine, fixing a cup for each of them as House headed for the bathroom.

She'd seen him slip a few vicodin into his pocket earlier, and suddenly cursed herself, because his leg was probably killing him.

Cuddy paid for their coffee, picked up a nutria-grain bar and an apple for her and a bag of chips for him, pausing at the magazine stand. She picked up a copy of Vogue, not remembering the last time she'd sat down and read a fashion magazine cover to cover. And at the last minute, she grabbed a copy of Cosmopolitan as well.

By the time she paid for their items, House had come out of the bathroom.

"Want me to drive?" she asked, asking him if he was okay in a round-about way.

He tilted his head at her, raising his eyebrows as he took one of the coffees from her.

"You have no idea where we're going," he argued.

She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. "I would if you told me."

"Not gonna happen," he teased, walking towards the door. She folded her arms over her chest and sighed, giving him a knowing look. "You showed up my house and told me to drive. For once I'm going to listen to what you said. Embrace it. "

* * *

They returned to the car, both jolted awake by the three shots of espresso that Cuddy had put into their coffee cups. Cuddy smiled, flipping through her magazine as House munched on the bag of chips. She glanced at the clock, noticing it was nearing three am—she felt like she was back in college.

House had turned the heat on in the car, but they hadn't gone anywhere yet. They were both content to just sit for a while; it wasn't as if they were on any sort of time table, anyway.

"So," House began, his mouth full of chips. The bag wrinkled as he balled it up and cast it to the side. "You want to tell me what spurred this little adventure?"

Cuddy didn't dare look up from her magazine.

"Do I have to have a reason?" she asked flatly, flipping through the pages. She pretended to be distracted by an incredibly expensive pair of shoes.

"No, but I know you do," he countered, eyeing her suspiciously. Cuddy's cast her eyes down, a sheepish smile escaping her lips.

Cuddy looked up and shut her magazine, meeting the smirk that was plastered across his face. She narrowed her eyes at him tautly.

"Maybe I wanted to see what this would be like away from the hospital, away from…everything," she explained her voice breaking away for the slightest moment.

He eyed her suspiciously; that wasn't the whole story.

"So this is a test?" he asked, baiting her with every word. Cuddy sighed and lifted a hand to her forehead.

"Why do you think everything is a test?"

He shrugged.

"Because it is," he answered simply. "Relationships either fail or they don't. Everything between the beginning and the end is, by definition, a test, otherwise they would never end—because there would never be any reason to. And you either pass the test, or you don't." He popped a chip into his mouth. "How am I doing so far?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, tilting her head to the side and giving him a sad smile. She didn't want him to think that she was constantly testing him, or worse, that he was constantly failing her—but she couldn't deny that there were some hidden truths in his words.

She took another sip of her coffee and met his gaze again. She smirked.

"I went to pick up my phone and grabbed my keys instead," she answered flatly. "It's not a test, House, I just thought it would be fun."

He eyed her suspiciously.

"You're sure this isn't you running away from anything? Although I guess the correct word would be driving. Then again, you're sitting."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Why do you have to read so much into everything? If you didn't want to come, you could have said no. Maybe I was just bored and I thought you would make good company."

House smirked.

"We have sex when you're bored." She gasped, swatting his arm playfully with her rolled up copy of Vogue. "Don't look so offended, it's not like I _mind_ being your flavor of the month. Months, if you want to get technical."

"It's nothing," she said, waving him off. "My sister is just getting into my head. We should go."

"Yes, seeing as how we're on such a tight schedule and what not," he mocked. She narrowed her eyes at him. He extended his arm towards her, his hand resting on her thigh. His voice grew softer. "What's going on, Cuddy?"

Cuddy cast her eyes away once more, biting down on her lower lip. She felt his hand gripping her thigh, silently urging her to open up. She took a deep breath.

"She asked me if you were going to break my heart," she muttered, her eyes meeting his. "And I don't know why," she rambled, suddenly embarrassed with the way she answered her sister, "but I said that you probably would."

House paused, averting his gaze from her. Cuddy cringed as she felt him remove his hand.

"This was your idea, Cuddy," he accused. He turned towards her. "I'm not the one who suggested we go the "casual" route."

"I know," she said softly, pleading with him. "That's not—I didn't mean it in that way." Her voice broke off once more and she sighed, running a hand through her hair and gripping on to her slightly curled locks. "I just meant that I haven't…I haven't felt this way before. About anyone. And that…that scares me."

"I know," he muttered softly, opening up to her with two small words. He placed his hand back on her thigh. "Don't let the lesser Cuddy's get into your head," he said offhandedly, causing a slight laugh to escape from her lips. "They're boring."

"And we're not?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

House scoffed.

"Do you think Julia ever wakes her husband up at two in the morning and drags him out of the house for an impromptu road trip?" he asked mockingly, nudging her leg with his hand. Cuddy let out a slight laugh as she shook her head.

House nodded at her as he put the keys back into the ignition, turning the car back on.

"Speaking of which, we need to get going if we're going to make it in time."

Cuddy smirked, curling up into the side of the car and suddenly feeling better than she had three hours ago.

* * *

She woke with a jolt. House was shoving her shoulder, and she murmured something incoherent. Cuddy lifted her head from the window, sighing as she craned her neck; she didn't remember falling asleep.

"You're really bad at this whole "keeping me awake" thing," he joked, giving her a pointed look. Cuddy smiled sheepishly at him. "Come on," he urged, unbuckling his seat belt and opening up the door. "We're here."

She stretched her arms out and looked out the window. It was just past five in the morning, and it was still dark out, but the darkness was threatening to lift any moment. Cuddy opened her door, turning her head as she looked for House.

"Where is here, exactly?" she wondered aloud, trying to figure out her surroundings. She heard the faint sound of waves and could just make out the smell of the ocean, and she smiled, because it had been ages since she'd been at the beach. "What are you doing?" she asked, noticing that he was rummaging through her trunk.

"Looking for the blanket that I know you stash in your trunk," he said, his hands throwing things right and left. "You know, just in case you run out of gas and are stranded in the middle of a snow storm. Or your car catches on fire and you need to extinguish the flames. Or any other ridiculous reason your paranoid mind came up with."

Cuddy scoffed.

"I would never run out of gas." House raised his eyebrows at her. She sighed and pointed towards the back. "It's underneath that shoebox," she muttered, slightly embarrassed.

House smirked and leaned into the trunk, reaching for the blanket and resisting the urge to open up the shoebox. He grabbed the blanket and shut the trunk, smirking as Cuddy shot him a perplexed look.

"Let's go," he said, ushering her towards the path that would lead to the shore. "Judging by the placement of the clouds, I'd say we have about twenty minutes."

Cuddy scoffed, folding her arms over her chest as she fell into a stride that mirrored his. "You can read the clouds?" she asked disbelievingly.

He shrugged.

"That and the newspaper," he answered, nudging her shoulder with his own.

Cuddy smirked as they continued to walk towards the pathway. House tucked the blanket underneath one arm and Cuddy looped her arm through the other, her hand clasping around him. She pulled him back as her feet hit the sand, pausing and reaching down to slip off her shoes.

She smiled as she felt the sand sink between her toes; the grainy earth shocked her system, sending uncomfortable shivers down her spine with every step. But as her feet dug deeper she became more comfortable and relaxed, and she smiled once again, because that was a feeling she knew all too well.

Cuddy paused a few feet away from the tide, careful not to get too close. House laid down the blanket and she grinned that girlish smile that he so rarely often saw. They stretched the blanket out, Cuddy's arm still linked through his, her body huddled up against him. The weather was on the brink of spring, but there was a cool breeze sweeping past. They watched as the clouds began to part, the subtle hint of a sunrise creeping towards them over the horizon.

Her head was resting in the crook of his shoulder, his arm draped around her waist and cradling her towards him. She sighed contently.

The waves crashed towards them, and Cuddy closed her eyes briefly; but it wasn't sleep she was looking for. Her closed eyes and the sound of his heart echoing through her ears gave her this unfamiliar sense of protection; as if no matter what happened, no matter what she said or did, he wouldn't go anywhere. It was as if there was this life ahead of her, and if she tried hard enough, she might actually hold on to it.

She smiled into his chest.

House was absentmindedly drumming his fingers against her waist, occasionally nipping at her skin. She felt sleep beginning to overcome her when he gently shook her in his arms, nudging her back awake.

"What?" she asked, drawing the word out and turning her head, burying her face into his t-shirt. "I would have stayed home if I'd known you weren't going to let me sleep."

He scoffed.

"You act like you haven't pulled an all-nighter before," he muttered into her hair, his lips moving against her skin. "Buck up soldier, we're in the home stretch."

He released her from his grasp and Cuddy feigned annoyance as her hands fell to her side. House stretched his legs out, and Cuddy, not having the energy to sit all the way up without his support, laid down and rested her head against his shins.

He glared down at her.

"I told you to buck up, not lie down," he said, rolling his eyes. She smirked as she glanced back up at him. "Fine. We're going to make this interesting for you."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"I'm not having sex on a beach," she teased, her head turning to the side so she faced him.

"That's not what I was suggesting. Thought now that you mention it…" She reached up and playfully swatted his shoulder, bits of sand flying from her hand. "Let's play a game."

"What kind of game?" she asked tentatively.

"A fun one," he said, shrugging his shoulders mockingly.

"House," she groaned tiredly. He leaned forward and took her hand in his, ignoring the questioning look that she was giving him. His thumb ran over her fingers in a way that was more distracting than relaxing, and she sighed, her eyes closing for a brief moment.

"Put up five fingers," he ordered, slightly louder than necessary. He really _was_ intent on keeping her awake. "We're playing Have You Ever."

Cuddy laughed half-heartedly. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"You're serious?" she asked.

He nodded. "As a heart attack," he answered nonchalantly. "I'll go first." He laced his hand through hers, opting to hold out the free one. Cuddy let out a defeated sigh and tried to hide a smile as she begrudgingly did the same.

"Have you ever been skinny dipping?" he asked, jerking his head towards the ocean, secretly hoping that she hadn't so that he could promptly respond with a witty comment about how there was a first time for everything.

She scrunched up her nose and bent down her thumb, her cheeks slightly flushing. His eyes widened, and he looked her up and down, silently pressing her for more details.

"Do you know what I love about this game?" she asked, smiling up at him. He raised his eyebrows at her and her voice grew softer. "Not having to go into any details," she murmured.

House rolled his eyes and gave her a defeated look. Cuddy smirked, her hand reaching up past her shoulder so she could lightly tap her fingers against his jeans.

"Ever called out the wrong name during sex?"

House shook his head.

"Nope," he said, nodding at her. "That would require having more than one or two serious relationships."

Her eyes averted the sand, where her other hand was tracing and retracing circles. She knew that he was referring to Stacy as the first, but who was the second? She tried not to smile as she realized he just might be talking about _her. _

Cuddy cleared her throat.

"Ever slept with a student teacher at your high school?" he asked knowingly, taunting her. He looks down at her, meeting her perplexed and slightly outraged gaze.

She widened her eyes at him.

"How did you even—"

House shrugged.

"Wilson gets very chatty when you get a few Apple Martinis in him."

Cuddy bent down her index finger, muttering empty threats towards Wilson.

"This isn't fair," Cuddy complained, narrowing her eyes at him. "There is actually nothing that you _haven't _done."

He smirked.

"Oh!" said Cuddy excitedly, propping up on her elbow and turning to face him. She smiled devilishly at him. "Have you ever taken your shirt off at a Rolling Stones concert and thrown it at MickJagger?"

"Nope," House answered, smiling down at her. "But neither have you, so try again."

She groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Three years ago you told me you'd never even _been _to a Rolling Stones concert," he explained, noting her confusion. "And I can always tell when you lie. Always. Try again," he ordered.

Cuddy sighed and dropped her elbow back to the ground. She rested her head against his legs once more.

She dug her hand into the sand, taking a fistful and letting the grains slip through her fingers. She averted her eyes towards the ground and took a deep breath, not sure if she should ask the question that she'd always wanted the answer to.

She turned her head towards him.

"Ever been in love?"

He paused, and their eyes met for what felt like an eternity. He looked up her up and down.

"Once or twice," he answered nonchalantly.

She smiled at him as he bent down his thumb, and even though it wasn't her turn, she bent a finger down as well. And she wasn't sure if he could see it, but deep down she knew that _he_ knew, and that was all that really mattered.

Their gaze turned to the sky, where the sun was creeping in through the clouds. They silently watched the sun rise, the mindless game long forgotten. Pinks and reds slowly filled the sky and the waves crept closer and closer towards them, the crashing sound and House's slight admissions echoing through Cuddy's ears.

Cuddy sat up and draped her arm over House's legs and leaned towards him. She gently pressed her lips to his, her bottom lip lingering. She pulled away, her forehead pressed against his, his hand circled around her waist.

She glanced towards the ocean and then back to him.

"Tide just changed."

* * *

"You've got to be joking," Cuddy announced, taking in her surroundings.

They'd headed back to the car once morning had officially hit, wordlessly agreeing that neither one was ready to return to Princeton just yet. They'd gotten coffee and eaten breakfast in one of the local diners on the pier; Cuddy snuck off to call the hospital three times, and House smirked, because Saturdays were supposed to be the days where she _didn't_ work.

He smirked and ushered her inside. _  
_

"This is clearly a place for kids," she argued, turning in circles as they walked.

House had dragged her to the carnival that was attached to the pier; there were the typical carnival games that were almost _impossible _to win, a giant Ferris Wheel all the way in the back corner, several of the rides that would practically _guarantee_ someone to become violently ill very quickly, and several food vendors with food that he was sure Cuddy would never even consider eating.

He shrugged and took her hand.

"You're always telling me I'm eight," he countered. "Seemed like the perfect place."

Cuddy gave him a tentative look.

"What?" he asked, half amused, half irritated. She cast her eyes to the ground. "You're not scared, are you?"

"No," Cuddy spat back immediately, a little too forceful than necessary. House smirked as she pulled on the sleeve of her t-shirt and looked back up at him. "I just have this thing about…clowns."

"You're scared of clowns?" he asked in disbelief, poking fun at her. "That has got to be the most irrational fear there is."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"All fear is irrational by your standards."

He shrugged.

"True," he answered. He took her hand and pulled her towards him, smirking as she slightly pouted as she walked towards him. "We'll just skip the fun house. I don't like being told when to have fun, anyway."

Cuddy smirked and laced her hand through his.

"You really are an eight year old," she muttered.

He smirked at her and they began to walk hand in hand through the semi-crowded carnival. It was nearing the middle of the day and the park was eventually began to fill with kids who weren't old enough to be in school, and parents who were taking advantage of the warm weather.

They stopped at a few of the game booths, neither one of them having much luck. Cuddy completely struck out in her attempts to land a ring on a soda bottle, and the vendor offered her one of the oversized stuffed animals just for trying; she refused on principle, and House spent the next ten minutes mercilessly mocking her for it.

They paused at the Ferris Wheel, and Cuddy shook her head relentlessly.

"Not happening," she scoffed, her arms folded across her chest.

House eyed her suspiciously, and she shrugged, giving him a slight smile as she plucked a piece of cotton candy from the stick he was holding. She popped the pink sugary substance into her mouth, smiling as it melted beneath her tongue.

"I thought chicks digged this type of thing," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the ferris wheel.

"Death traps?" she countered, raising an eyebrow at him. He smirked. "Nothing should sway that much when it's propelled into the air."

"It's not a death trap," he said, rolling his eyes. He paused. "Do you want me to explain to you the interworking of ferris wheels?" he asked, his voice playfully condescending.

She shook her head, half amused and half impressed.

"I think I can live without the patronizing lecture," she answered, smirking at him. She sighed in a defeated manner and looped her arm back through his. "Come on before I change my mind."

He grinned that boyish grin of his, her fingers clinging to his jacket in what he assumed was fear, and walked over to the other end of the carnival.

Unfortunately for Cuddy, the line wasn't nearly as long as she had hoped, and they boarded the ride within minutes. The man operating the ride gave House a questioning look and he simply shrugged and said something completely inappropriate about how Cuddy liked her men.

She swatted his arm and let out a slight laugh, silently grateful for the distraction he was providing her. She cringed as the ride squeaked, and they slowly began to sway as the moved up.

Her hands were gripping the bar in front of her, and her shoulders were possible more tense than he had ever seen them. But she was determined to put on a brave face and he smirked, because her sheer will and determination had to be one of her most endearing qualities—right up there with her ability to out drink Wilson when it came to tequila shots.

"I can't believe you got me to do this," she muttered, forcing herself to keep her eyes open. She shifted and turned next to him, letting out a slight whimper as their compartment swung back and forth.

"I've been getting you to do a lot of things you wouldn't normally do lately," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. He shifted in his seat, causing the ride to suddenly jerk. He smirked as lines of worry quickly etched across her face. "Figured I might as well push you to your absolute limit. Who knew that would be something as lame as a ferris wheel?"

Cuddy chuckled.

"Yeah, well I am full of surprises, aren't I?" she murmured, turning her head towards him but making sure not to move a muscle. He placed a comforting hand on her knee and squeezed it gently.

"House?" she asked, her voice soft and slightly afraid. He tilted his head towards her. "Are you worried?"

"About the ride breaking down and us falling to our untimely death? Not particularly. That's more in your wheelhouse of irrational fears." She swatted his arm again and gave him an irritated look. "Oh you meant something else?" he said mockingly. He shrugged. "I don't worry about things. It tends to cramp my style."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"We wouldn't want that," she muttered. She fiddled with her hands and was silent for a moment. The ride was starting to let people off, and she sighed, because she was finally starting to feel comfortable with the constant motion. She turned towards House, this time moving her entire body. "I just—" her voice broke off and she sighed, letting out a slightly embarrassed laugh, "do you think this is a mistake?"

He shrugged.

"I have absolutely no idea. But even if it is, when has that ever stopped me?"

And she smiled, because even when he didn't know the answer, he was _still right. _The ride stopped, and the man operating the ferris wheel walked over to them, ready to open the compartment door. Cuddybit down on her bottom lip and looked over at House.

He was looking at her expectantly, and she didn't know if it was thrill of the ride, or the talk they'd had on the beach, or if it was the fact that she'd been up for twenty-four hours straight, but she held out her hand and gave the operator a smile, leaning back as she said:

"We're going to keep going."

* * *

A couple of hours later, Cuddy once again found herself being woken up by House. They'd decided they should probably head home after a couple more rounds on the ferris wheel, though neither one of them wanted to admit it. They'd felt a sense of security that they didn't feel back in Princeton; it was simply, it was easy, it was…free of complication.

But back at home there was the hospital and a sense of responsibility that they'd momentarily freed themselves of for a day or so.

Cuddy's eyes fluttered open as she felt him gently shake her shoulder.

"We're back?" she asked, stifling a yawn. She gave him a sympathetic look. "I told you to wake me up when we were halfway there. You've been driving the entire time."

He shrugged.

"And miss out on the opportunity to take embarrassing pictures of you while you were sleeping?" He scoffed and she rolled her eyes. "Not a chance. You snore, by the way."

Cuddy yawned as she opened the car door, sighing as she noticed the sun was beginning to go down. It was nearing five in the afternoon.

"I do not snore," she retorted haughtily, narrowing her eyes at him.

He shrugged.

"What do you call it then? Breathing _really really _loudly?"

She shook her head and they walked up to the apartment, and he turned towards her as he pushed open the door. "You staying?" he asked

She shrugged.

"Sure," she said as she walked into the apartment. "I don't feel like driving back to my house, and I think I left some clothes here last week…" she turned her head, looking around for the black skirt, silk top, and spare pair of Manolo Blahnik's that she secretly stored in his apartment.

"They're in the closet," he answered nonchalantly.

Cuddy widened her eyes at him.

"You hung up my clothes?"

"They were in the way," he argued, a sheepish smile on his face. "I relocated them. Don't read too much into it or anything," he warned.

Cuddy smirked and walked over to House. She wrapped her arms around his neck and his hand found her waist; she ran her thumb down the side of his cheek before settling her hands at the base of his neck.

"Thank you," she murmured, her eyes locking with his. Her face turned serious. "For everything."

He nodded.

"You're welcome." She smiled and leaned into him for a brief kiss. "I'm going to take a shower. Join me if you _really_ want to thank me."

She smirked as they disentangled, and he playfully tapped her on the ass as he passed.

"I'll be there in a minute," she called over her shoulder.

He nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the faint sound of the water turning on, and she smiled as she walked into the bedroom. She tore of her t-shirt and stepped out of her jeans, walking over to the bed and reaching over it while she fumbled around for the spare phone charger she kept there as well. She sighed as she plugged it into the wall and reached into her bag for her phone.

Her blackberry slowly returned to life and she let out a slight groan as hundreds of emails flooded her inbox. A sudden wave of reality came over her, and she paused, her eyes averting to the bathroom door that had been left slightly ajar.

She cast her blackberry to the side and tiptoed towards the bathroom, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to ignore reality for a few more hours.

* * *

_A/N: Some of you might recognize the "Cuddy slept with her student teacher in high school"-that's just a personal head canon of mine. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it took me a bit to come up with it. The next one should be up sooner than this was, but I hesitate to make any promises. Let me know your thoughts!_


	11. Rejection

_A/N: I promised this would be up by Wednesday-technically Wednesday isn't over for another hour (for me at least). Just a heads up: this is the last major plot point I'll be developing. I'll be stopping around chapter 13. _

_This is probably my favorite chapter out of all of them. It's cute for all of 30 seconds (I lulled you into a false sense of security with that last chapter and I am completely unashamed of that) _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Cuddy's eyes zoned in on the television in front of her, her thumbs angrily pressing down on any button she could find on the ridiculous video game controller that House had left her with. She curled her legging-clad leg underneath her, readjusting herself so she could get a better view. Her oversized t-shirt was sliding off of her shoulder, and she sighed as her character was suddenly annihilated by a ninja—or maybe it was a zombie, she wasn't really sure.

She threw the controller across the bed, slightly pouting as she looked around the suddenly deserted room.

"House?" she called as she got out of the bed. She shivered as her bare feet hit the hardwood floors of his apartment. "Where are you? I just got killed by a ninja. Or a zombie. I'm not sure. Either way, I officially resign from my post of "sole video game player."

She furrowed her brow as he didn't respond. She prodded into the kitchen, thinking he might have gone in search for something to eat. It was almost nine and they'd planned on going out for dinner, but they'd both had a long day at work and neither one felt like doing much.

In fact, Cuddy had barely acknowledged him when she'd wandered into his apartment an hour earlier. She'd let herself in with the key that he'd wordlessly left for her on the end table by the door about a week after they'd returned from the shore. She'd found him sprawled out on the bed playing the unnecessarily violent—and yet incredibly irresistible—game, and she'd simply crawled in next to him, sighing contently as her face fell into the pillow.

He'd smiled at her, handed her the extra console, and switched to two-player.

But he'd disappeared over twenty minutes ago.

"House?" she called out again, her voice growing concerned. Her stomach started to growl and she sighed once more. "Do you want me to order something for dinner? How about pizza?"

She rolled her eyes as he remained silent. Usually he jumped at the prospect of seeing her eat anything that didn't feature lettuce as the main ingredient.

Cuddy left the kitchen and checked in the living room, only to find it completely deserted. She walked down the hall and towards the bathroom, finding the door slightly ajar. She spotted the smallest hint of his jeans through the crack at the bottom.

She softly knocked on the door. "House?" she asked, slightly irritated. Voices carried in his apartment, there was no way he hadn't heard her. "Are you even listening to me?"

Cuddy waited for him to respond, rolling her eyes as he continued to ignore her. She knocked on the door as she opened it, refusing to give him a choice in the matter.

She sucked in her breath as she took in the sight before her.

"Oh my god," she muttered, gasping as she brought her fingers to her slightly parted lips. "House…"

He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his leg stretched out in front of him and his face scrunched up in agony. He was clutching on to his leg with a force of concentration that she'd never seen him exert before. His eyes were closed and he refused to look up; she was sure he was avoiding the sympathetic look that was undoubtedly plastered across her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked, immediately regretting the question the second it left her lips. He clearly wasn't _okay_. She sighed as she rushed over to where he was sitting.

He was hunched over, one hand gripping his leg and the other clutching on to the edge of the tub. She crouched down next to him, lifting her hand to his forehead, the concern etched across her face as she wiped away small beads of sweat.

"I'm fine," he said, coiling away from her touch. "You should go."

"Be quiet, House," she ordered. She moved her other hand to his opposite arm, supporting his weight against her forearm as he shook from the pain. "Where are your pills?"

He shook his head.

"The pills aren't working," he said through gritted teeth. "They can't…"He cried out in agony once more. "They can't fix it."

Cuddy tightened her grip on him.

"Shhh," she comforted, her voice softening with every gentle touch. "What can I do?"

"Nothing," he bit back, wriggling out of her grasp. He moved both of his hands to his leg, rubbing it as she slightly moved away from him. She sat down on the ground, leering up at him. He could tell that wasn't the answer she was looking for. He sighed. "There's nothing you can do."

Cuddy brought a hand to her head, rubbing her temple in a defeated manner. She looked up at him earnestly.

"Let me help you, House."

He shook his head, lowering his eyes to the ground. He took a few deep breaths and released the grip he had on his leg.

"I don't need your help."

Cuddy scoffed.

"I think you do."

He started to rub his leg and Cuddy got up, walking over to where he was sitting. She sat down next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, rubbing up and down his back in attempts to comfort him. He tensed up at her touch, and Cuddy swallowed hard, biting down on her lower lip as she gave him a concerned look—she'd never seen him react to the feeling of her hand on him like this.

"You're not my girlfriend, Cuddy," he growled, "You don't have to sit here and tend to my every need."

Cuddy immediately stood up. She choked back the tears that were threatening to spring from her eyes and took a deep breath, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her crack. She squared her shoulders, her arms folded across her chest as she stared him down. He looked up at her and there was a faint hint of apology in his eyes; he opened his mouth but immediately closed it, refusing to speak. The pain seemed like it had started to subside, but another form was slowly seeping in.

She nodded.

"You're right. You know what, I should go. It's getting late."

He sighed and moved his arm as if he were attempting to get up, but decided against it at the last second.

"It's barely nine," he answered.

She shrugged.

"I know, but I have a board meeting in the morning and—"

"Cuddy," he interrupted, his voice firm but she could have sworn there was some warmness etched within his scorned look. She looked up at him expectantly, making sure not to hold his gaze too long; the tears that she had choked back earlier were threatening to escape with every pleading look he gave her. "I didn't mean—" his voice trailed off, and he looked back down at the floor, not knowing what to say.

"You never do," she mumbled, her shoulders dropping as she turned to walk out the door. She stopped at the edge of the doorway, her face falling as she looked at him. He'd stopped holding on to his leg, but he was still gripping the edge of the tub. He made no movement towards her. "What are we doing House?"

He didn't dare to look at her. His eyes averted to the ground.

"I don't know."

She nodded, and this time she didn't try to stop the tear from rolling down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, taking a deep breath as she walked out the door and tried not to think about the implications of the three little words he'd just said. Because she'd never known a world where Gregory House didn't know the answer—and that terrified her more than she cared to admit.

* * *

Cuddy looked up as Wilson barged into her office the next morning. She sighed and closed her laptop, preparing herself for the unsolicited lecture she was_ sure_ she was about to get.

"What did you to him?" he demanded, closing the door behind him.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Of course this is my fault," she muttered. She raised her eyebrows at Wilson. "Is he back to calling me the she-devil now? I guess it would be pretty hard for him to continue that rumor about me actually being a man, considering he's seen—"

"You know that's not what I meant," Wilson relented. He lifted a hand to his head, rubbing his cheek. "I thought things were going good between you two? He mentioned something about you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, and there was something about a beach…he seemed happy. What happened?"

Cuddy sighed.

"Reality happened," she muttered. "We had a fight, sort of. I'm not even sure you could call it that. Where is he? Is he even here?"

Wilson nodded.

"He's holed up in his office. I think he's already consumed his normal dose of vicodin and it's barely noon. His team finally gave up and went to try and find a case, but he throws out everything they bring him. Whatever it is that happened between the two of you, it's affecting him more than you think."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and pushed out her chair, the anger apparent on her face. "I'm tired of making excuses for him," she muttered. "If he wants to act like a petulant child who is incapable of accepting even the _tiniest_ bit of help, then I'm going to treat him like one."

She grabbed a file from her desk and stormed out of her office, darting her eyes towards the door and signaling Wilson to follow her. They were silent as they walked towards the elevator, Cuddy's heels clicking against the floor louder than normal. Wilson had unknowingly struck a nerve, and Cuddy—who'd spent the better part of the night feeling guilty and upset—had moved on to sheer and utter anger.

Wilson shot her a perplexed look. "Do you want to explain to me what happened, or are you going to continue to internally fume to yourself until it consumes you entirely and you completely overreact to something that's actually minuscule and relatively unimportant?"

The elevator _pinged_, alerting its arrival, and for a moment Wilson considered not getting on at all. Cuddy shot him a glare and he quickly hurried in.

"You think I'm overreacting?" she asked, slamming her hand against the button. She looked over at him and scoffed. "You don't even know what happened."

"So enlighten me," he suggested.

Cuddy shrugged.

"Nothing _happened_," she said, clearing her throat as she ran a hand through her hair. "House was just…he was just being House. So I left. It's nothing that hasn't happened before."

"Maybe so," said Wilson, "but he's _never_ felt guilty about it. You need to talk to him." Cuddy rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to respond, but Wilson quickly cut her off. "Talk, not yell. You're clearly upset, but I think if you just—"

"I'm not upset," she countered, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her way.

Wilson eyed her suspiciously.

"I'm convinced," he muttered. The elevator stopped and they got off, and Cuddy quickly sped away. Wilson jogged to catch up with her and gently tugged on her elbow, pulling her back towards him.

She narrowed her eyes at him, prompting him to quickly remove his hold on her.

"You're upset," he said simply. "I get that. I'm sure you have a laundry list of reasons to be upset. But he's upset too, and we _both _know that's unusual. So whatever you're going to say, whatever you're going to do to him, just try and keep that in mind."

Cuddy scoffed.

"I'm not going to do anything. I'm bringing him a case. And unlike his team, he can't say no to me." She paused, the words she was about to say holding more meaning than she was prepared to admit. "Not about this."

* * *

"I've got something for you," said Cuddy as she barged into House's office. Wilson followed behind her giving House a slightly terrified look.

House looked over at Wilson.

"Of course you went running to _her_," he muttered. He looked back over at Cuddy. "I don't need a case. I'm getting along fine without one. Nice try, though." He stretched his feet out on his lounge chair and leaned back. Cuddy slammed the file onto his lap. She shoved his feet off the ottoman and sat down, giving him a pointed look.

"I'm not letting you get away with this," she said. "I don't know what's going on with you. Clearly you're angry with me, though I can't for the life of me figure out why you think _you've _earned the right to be upset. But that's beside the point. This is your job, House. You're not obligated to do much. You've made that abundantly clear. But you _are_ obligated to do this."

He looked at her and then back to Wilson.

"She's pulling the boss card," he mocked. He turned back towards Cuddy. "How _predictable._" Cuddy rolled her eyes and shoved the file towards him. "What have you got for me boss? Twenty-five year old gymnast? Twenty-two year old co-ed?"

House groaned as he looked over the file.

"This isn't even a case," he said, outraged by her request. Cuddy smirked at him. "This guy is waiting on a heart transplant. The surgery is scheduled for twelve hours from now. You're essentially asking me to babysit."

"Thirty-five year old male with congestive heart failure. The transplant team is on the way with the heart. He's been waiting months for this heart, House. It's his last chance. I just need you to make sure he doesn't die while he's waiting. Send your team home for all I care. Think you can handle that?"

House eyed her suspiciously.

"You want me to sit with a patient waiting for a heart? Is it because you think I'm _heartless_? Because if you're going to insult me, at least try not to be so obvious about it."

Cuddy let out an uncharacteristic laugh.

"Just sit with him House. Maybe you'll learn what it's like to _actually _be helpless. God knows you could use some humility."

She got up and sauntered off, giving Wilson a curt nod as she left House's office. House sighed and picked up the file, rolling his eyes as he skimmed over it. Wilson stood there, his mouth hanging half open as he glanced back and forth between House and Cuddy's disappearing form.

When she was completely out of sight, he turned towards House.

"What exactly happened between the two of you? She's acting…strange."

House shrugged.

"She's upset," he muttered. He lifted his leg off the chair and placed it on the ground as he stood up, picking up his cane. "Like most people, she gets _irrational_ when she's upset."

"And yet you're the one who was brooding alone in the dark. What exactly happened?"

House shrugged.

"I said something insensitive, she reacted poorly. It's nothing that hasn't happened before."

"What did you say? Because from the way she was talking, it's clear she wasn't just talking about the case."

House groaned, not wanting to rehash the details of what happened the night before. He'd regretted what he'd said the minute he'd heard the door slam on her way out, and he'd lost track of the amount of times he'd picked up the phone to call her—he always hung up at the last minute, and each time, without fail, he hated himself even more.

He used drugs as a crutch; he relied on them, and they rarely let him down. But people—people were different. People could disappear, and he couldn't afford to get attached to her in _that _way.

"She wasn't," he muttered, replaying the conversation in his head. Cuddy wasn't exactly one for subtlety. "She'll get over it eventually, she always does."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You can't keep doing this to her, House. Cuddy is not some unbreakable being that bends to your every whim. There are only so many things one person can put up with. She's got a tough exterior, but on the inside…she's just like everyone else."

"Prone to meddling?" he asked, turning towards Wilson as he walked out of his office. Wilson begrudgingly followed him. "Why do you have this incessant need to fix everything? You're as bad as she is."

Wilson gave him a knowing smile.

"So that's what this is about," he said, impressed with himself for figuring it out. "What does she want you to do? Detox? Because I for one, would be all for—"

House groaned.

"Why does everyone think I need to be fixed? Why do you think I need help? I'm perfectly fine with the way things are," he muttered.

Wilson nodded.

"Yes," Wilson began mockingly. "The great and all-knowing Gregory House. Incapable of letting people help him but more than willing to accept help from a _narcotic_." House glared at him. "You're independent to a fault, House. Everybody needs help. That doesn't make you weak. Sometimes, it even makes you strong."

Hour rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore him.

"Your independence is going to get in the way of your happiness. You're so intent on doing things on your own, so obsessed with proving the point that you don't need anyone that you're going to end up pushing away the one thing that you actually want."

* * *

House grumbled as he limped into the patient's room. He looked over to the bed, where the middle-aged man with a failing heart was making a horrid attempt to feign sleep. House sat down in the chair, slightly pleased with the lack of response he'd gotten from the patient—he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone someone who was in his state.

House groaned as the patient began to stir.

"You're not nearly as pretty as my last doctor," he said, turning so he faced House. The patient gave House a charismatic smile, and House rolled his eyes.

He certainly wasn't in the mood to deal with a charmer.

"Yeah, but I've got a fully functioning heart. Unlike you, who's suffering from a—" House flipped through his chart, squinting his eyes as he read through the file, "very severe case of cardiomyopathy."

The patient—whose name House had already forgotten—shrugged and sat up in his bed. "Twelve hours I'll have you beat in that category. And the pretty one, too. I don't know if the other doctors have told you about me, but I'm a catch."

House smirked. This guy was certainly full of himself, but not in the way that was irritating. Even from where House was sitting, he could tell that the patient was tall. He had a broad chest and a full head of brown, slightly messy hair. And his green eyes stood out against his tanned skin.

The patient nodded at House.

"I'm Scott. You got a name or can I call you Dr. Gimp?"

House eyed him suspiciously before answering.

"House."

Scott nodded. "That's a good name. Distinguished with a hint of mystery, effortlessly rolls of your tongue. It's catchy, I like it."

House leaned forward in his chair. "Are you always this chatty?" he asked rather icily, raising his eyebrows at the patient.

Scott smiled at him again. "Only on days I'm getting a new heart. They tell you how long I've been waiting to get rid of this useless thing?" House remained silent. "They call me in every couple months or so, promising me a new heart. But they never deliver, something to do with being unable to harvest them. I don't know man, they make it sound like they're trying to put a pumpkin in me or something." Scott chuckled, not caring that House was rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I don't understand half the medical nonsense they throw at me."

House continued his pre-determined silent approach. He wasn't interested in listening to the patient drone on about his lack of ability to comprehend simple medical terminology—he probably hadn't even been paying attention to what his previous doctors were saying when he was last called in.

"But I keep on showing up. I mean what choice do I have really?" Scott turned over in the uncomfortable patient bed; even from where House was sitting, he could tell the sheets were stiff. "It's like that Woody Allen quote."

House paused and eyed him suspiciously. He smirked.

"You're right, eggs and hearts are totally the same thing. I would run to the store and pick one up for you myself, but cripple and all…you know how it is," he said mockingly.

Scott chuckled.

"What exactly do you think life is? You're kidding yourself if you think it's about your job, even a job like yours. Yeah you save lives, but at the end of the day, what is that you have?"

House leaned back in his chair, inwardly cursing Cuddy as he readjusted—she had to know that she was essentially sending him into the lion's den. There was nothing she loved more than forcing someone else on him in order to evoke some sort of divine realization.

"Life is about relationships, and it's better you realize that now before…" Scott paused, his voice trailing off. He took a deep breath. "It's like Woody said, "they're totally irrational and crazy and absurd, but I guess we keep going through it because most of us need the eggs."

House didn't respond; he remembered a brunette from a different time giving him this exact speech, and at the time, he never thought it might apply to someone else. His relationship with Cuddy was flawed—it had been flawed from the very beginning—but a flawed beginning didn't necessarily guarantee an imperfect ending.

They were interrupted by the sound of a door sliding open, followed by the unmistakable clicking of Cuddy's heels. Cuddy walked in, shooting Scott a smile and House a slightly condescending look.

He shook his head and scoffed.

"You see, this is the pretty doctor I was talking about earlier," Scott said, beaming up at Cuddy. "It's hard to be mad when she's the one who's telling you bad news."

Cuddy glanced towards House, who had averted his eyes to the ground. She smirked at the irony.

"How are you feeling?" Cuddy asked, smiling as she made her way over to him. She picked up his chart and flipped through it absentmindedly, giving the patient a slightly reassuring smile.

House's eyes followed her every move; she usually wasn't this involved with cases.

"Fine, but I'll feel a whole lot better once that heart is tightly secured into my chest," he answered, grinning up at Cuddy. He leaned closer to her, his voice falling to a hushed whisper. "You know, gimpy over here isn't exactly the talkative type," he joked.

House rolled his eyes.

"That's because you've been babbling about _eggs_ for the last ten minutes," he muttered. "And you know, eggs just aren't my favorite breakfast food. Bacon maybe. Though I do love a good stack of pancakes."

Scott chuckled and looked over at Cuddy. "He's funny. You didn't send him in here to soften some sort of blow, did you?"

Cuddy's eyes darted to the ground and she cleared her throat. She smiled reassuringly at him once more.

"Dr. House is one of our best doctors," she said diplomatically. She turned her head towards House, who was giving her a quizzical look. "I actually need to speak with him outside. You should get some rest."

She looked at House expectantly and began to walk out of the patient room. House remained glued to his seat, taking to much pleasure out of defying her simple request. She paused at the door and cleared her throat once more, lifting her eyebrows at him. She beckoned her hand towards him.

House groaned as he got up, grabbing his cane from where it was propped up against the wall. "Sorry," he said, shrugging at Scott. "My mistress is calling."

Scott chuckled, not knowing how much truth was laced underneath House's words.

* * *

"I thought we agreed to keep our personal life separate from our _professional _one," House muttered, leering down at Cuddy.

She rolled her eyes.

"Who said this was personal? You're my employee. That means when we're inside these four walls, you do what I say. If you have a problem with that, feel free to take it up with some higher power, because I don't have the time to even _feign_ interest."

House smirked.

"I can see down your shirt. There, I just made it personal," he said, pressing his cane into the ground and leaning closer towards her. She quickly recoiled.

"We have a problem," she began.

"I know," said House, pointing his finger at her. "You are completely overreacting to something I said when I was experiencing _excruciating _pain."

Cuddy glared at him.

"What part of _this isn't personal_ did you not understand?" she demanded, folding her arms over her chest. He shrugged, feigning innocence. "It's about Scott, the patient." She ran a hand through her hair, a defeated look on her face.

House sighed and looked into the patient's room. He directed his gaze back towards Cuddy.

"He's not getting the heart, is he?"

She shook her head.

"He was first on the list when I checked this morning," she said quietly. "But I just got a call from UNOS, and they're dropping him down to number two. Someone else must be in worse shape than he is. It happens sometimes—"

"There must be something you can do," House interjected. Cuddy shook her head. "I looked at his chart. He's going to die if this transplant doesn't happen."

Cuddy nodded. "I know," she answered. "But my hands are tied. There's nothing I can do."

House shook his head.

"You're _bureaucratic_ hands are tied," he argued. "That doesn't mean that you're completely out of options."

Cuddy gave him a suspicious look.

"What are you talking about?" she asked tentatively, slightly afraid of what he was possibly suggesting.

"We're doctors," House stated. "We can make people better." He leaned closer towards her, and Cuddy's breath hitched, because she knew _exactly_ where his train of thought was going. "But we can also make people worse," he added quietly. "We do that, he moves up to number one. Problem solved."

She held out her hand.

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't just say that," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "You can't be serious, House. Do you ever consider the ramifications of your actions?" she hissed.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, exasperated. "He needs a heart. We can get him one. We just have to…manipulate the facts in order to get what we want. Don't sit there and pretend that you've never lied to get something done."

"You're not manipulating the facts!" she argued. "You're—you're putting this man's life at risk for the _chance_ that he might get the heart. What are you going to do? Send him into v-tach? What if you can't revive him, House? What then?"

"I'm trying to come up with a solution, that's what I'm doing," he fumed. Cuddy shook her head in disbelief. "You're the one who is hiding behind paperwork and some naïve outlook on life where you think everything is black and white. I've got news for you, life doesn't always work out the way you want it to."

Cuddy scoffed.

"I think you've made that pretty clear," she hissed, narrowing her eyes even further. She took a deep breath, trying not to think about the prying eyes that were surrounding them in the hallway. She lowered her voice. "You're just so goddamn reckless," she said icily. "It's like you care about absolutely nothing in your life. The review board at UNOS isn't full of idiots, House. They're going to figure out what happened! You're not the only one good at solving puzzles."

"If this is about my patient, make it about my patient!" he persisted. "Don't patronize me with subtext and hidden meaning. Say what you mean or don't say anything at all."

"Your reputation precedes you, House," she lectured, her voice growing colder with every spoken word. "What do you think is going to happen when I get UNOS on the phone and tell them our patient is suddenly having a heart attack? What do you think they're going to do?"

House rolled his eyes.

"I don't think anything," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I _know_ they're going to give us the heart, because they have to. They won't have a choice," he added condescendingly.

"You're so arrogant," she hissed. "You think you can do everything on your own. You can fix other people's problems, but you can't be bothered to fix your own. What does that say about you House? Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look so good."

"It says that I care about my patient," he snapped back.

Cuddy scoffed.

"Ten minutes ago you were complaining about him, now you're talking about breaking about a thousand ethical codes—not to mention the _law_," she said firmly. "Everything you do is rooted in self-service, self-preservation. Breaking rules excites you because it confirms the notion that you can get away with whatever you want."

House rolled his eyes and let out a huff.

She moved closer to him, lifting her eyes towards his. Her voice fell to a whisper. "Well guess what? You can't. Do you remember when I said that everything wasn't a test? Well this is. Let your patient know that he's not getting the heart. If he ends up on that operating table later this afternoon, I'll know it was because of you. And I'll have your license."

She stepped back, not daring to look at him as she turned and walked away.

* * *

House slammed his bottle of vicodin on the tray attached to Scott's bed. He popped a few into his mouth, sighing dramatically as he swallowed them.

Scott furrowed his brow.

"What did you just take?" he asked, curious. House shrugged and gave him a defeated look. Their eyes met for a few seconds, and Scott sighed, knowing what House was about to tell him. "I'm not getting the heart, am I?"

House shook his head.

"Nope," he answered, a little too triumphantly. He shrugged. "You're not sick enough for it. Not yet, at least."

Scott shrugged him off.

"Nah," he said, sighing. "This was my third shot. I'm not going to last much longer as it is." He glanced over to the machine that was essentially pumping the blood through his heart. "Machines can only do so much."

House smirked.

He dumped out the rest of his vicodin, the pills spilling out onto the small table. He divided them into small groups, silently making a show of counting out a specified amount. Scott opened his mouth to inquire, but House mockingly lifted up his hand, hushing him.

"This is vicodin," he said, pushing a few of the pills towards the patient. "Now, I'm not really one for sharing, but I'm going to explain to you what _could_ happen if I—or anyone in this room—were to suddenly swallow all of these pills at once."

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat. House ignored him and continued.

"I take vicodin because I'm in pain, every day. Sometimes it relieves that pain, sometimes—sometimes it creates a different kind." He paused, his voice lowering and his head bowing slightly. He quickly perked up. "It can also cause seizures, certain organ failure, nausea, stomach pain, and whole bunch of other symptoms that aren't relevant to my point."

"You seem perfectly healthy to me," Scott muttered, the disappointment clear in his tone. There was something unsettling about knowing that there was a ticking clock on your life. House rolled his eyes. "Minus the leg, of course," he added half-heartedly.

"Did I say I was finished?" House looked around the room, making his point in the most dramatic way possible. "I don't think I said I was finished," he said to no on in particular.

Scott let out a slight chuckle.

"As I was _saying_, it can also slow your heart rate down. Now I myself am a medical anomaly, so the chances of that happening to me are relatively nonexistent," he boasted. "But you on the other hand, you're a ticking time bomb. Your heart rate is already dangerously low, and swallowing all of these pills would probably send it into overdrive. Which would damage your heart even more…." House pressed his hands against the edge of the table, clutching it as he leaned closer. His face grew serious; Scott averted his gaze. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Scott cleared his throat, his eyes not moving from the frayed threads of his sheets. He gathered the sheet in his hand, holding on to it for dear life as he lifted his eyes up; House could make out the discomfort in his eyes.

Scott nodded.

"I'm going to step outside for a minute," House said. He picked up the remote that would page the assigned nurse and wordlessly handed it to the patient. He pushed the tray towards him as well, the vicodin rattling against the plastic. "If anything were to…happen while I'm gone, you know what to do."

Scott nodded, watching as House walked out of the room. When he heard the sliding door close, he gathered up the pills into his hand. He stared at them, contemplating on what he should do; he even went as far to place them back on the tray.

But at the last second, he cradled the pills into his hand and popped them into his mouth. He closed his eyes as he swallowed them. And as he felt his heart quicken to an alarming rate, he fell back into his pillows, his hand pressed firmly against the page button.

The last thing he heard was the sound of the sliding door opening once more.

* * *

Cuddy stood by the door to her house for fifteen minutes before she finally decided to let him in. She opened the door to find his cane pressed up against the wood; he must have been mid-knock.

"Oh thank god," he said, giving her a glare. "It wasn't like my arm was getting tired or anything."

She shook her head and ignored him.

"If you've come here to apologize, you're about five hours too late."

Scott had been put on bypass once he had been revived. The nurse made the call to UNOS, who checked with the Head of Cardio at Princeton Plainsboro; they both agreed that Scott should reclaim his number one position, due to the damage that the sudden heart attack had caused. The heart was flown in from New York, and a team of surgeons was currently performing the surgery.

House had disappeared from the hospital as soon as the surgery had been scheduled.

"I'm not here to apologize for that," he said. "I would do it again, we both know it."

Cuddy nodded.

"You're a bastard," she said accusingly, her voice breaking as she spoke. "Do you have _any _idea what will happen if someone finds out what you did?"

"There's no paper trail!" argued House, shaking his head. "You're not it any danger. And neither am I, for that matter. You can't prove anything, and that's why you're upset. It has nothing to do with you."

Cuddy face reddened with anger.

"Nothing to do with me?" she hissed. "Nothing to _do _with me? I am your boss, House. I am responsible for you. Your actions are _my _actions; do you understand that? They're going to figure out that you orchestrated the whole thing, and they're going to assume I let you do it. And we both know why. It doesn't help that the entire hospital knows that we're sleeping together."

He shook his head.

"This is a mistake," she muttered, "this _whole thing_ was a mistake."

"How is this any different from before? I've pulled crap like this countless times and you've never reacted like this! You're blowing this out of proportion. They're not going to pin this on you. Hell, they're not even going to pin this on me. The only people that know what happened are me and Scott, and considering he got a fully functioning _heart_ because of me, I'm pretty sure he's not going to say a word. You and your precious hospital aren't going to go down in flames. So why don't we have the _real _argument you want to have."

"You still don't get it," she said, shaking her head. She bit down on her bottom lip, her shoulder squared as she faced him. She sighed, dropping them as she leaned back against the wall. "It's different, House. I sent you back into that patient room _knowing_ you were going to do something irresponsible and unethical. What did you do? Leave your vicodin on the table? I checked the pharmacy; you didn't sign any pills out, and nothing is missing. Which means you had to already have it."

House sighed, bringing a hand to his face. He rubbed his forehead.

"So what if I did? I saved his life! He is getting that heart because of _me_. Isn't that worth something? Doesn't that make up for the fact that I said you weren't my girlfriend? Which, by the way, was your idea from the start if you _really _want to get into it."

"Dammit House it's not about that!" she exclaimed, choking back tears. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Were my feelings hurt by what you said? Of course they were. But this is bigger than that. Everything…everything has changed. I handle you differently now. I actively _worry_ about you when you pull stunts like this."

He stepped towards her and she darted her eyes towards the ground. He sighed.

"How is that different from before? You've always looked out for me; you've always…protected me when bad things happen. Vogler, Tritter—you're not going to lose your job over this."

She shook her head.

"Dammit House I wasn't in love with you then!"

He paused, and their eyes met for what seemed like an eternity. Neither one of them dared to make a move; Cuddy remained leaned up against the wall, her head bowed and her hair falling in front of her face. She quickly tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and wiped a tear from her cheek.

She looked up at him, the both of them wide-eyed and silent.

Cuddy's phone rang and she sighed, shaking her head as she went to answer her phone. She barely acknowledged the person speaking on the other end of the phone, and the call seemed to end as soon as it had begun.

She snapped her phone shut and gave him a defeated look.

"Scott Matthison rejected the heart. He died on the table."

* * *

_"It reminds me of that whole joke-you know, a guy walks into a psychiatrist's office and says, "hey doc, my brother's crazy!He thinks he's a chicken." Then the doc says, "Why don't you turn him in?" Then the guys says, "I would, but I need the eggs." I guess that's how I feel about relationships. They're totally crazy, irrational, and absurd, but we uh...I guess we keep going through it because we need the eggs."_

_-Annie Hall. _

_p.s: I think spur of the moment "I love you"s (especially ones that are a result of some form of argument) are much more romantic than average admissions._

_-Alison_


	12. Heartache

_A/N: This is pretty heavy on the angst. Also, just a heads up: the next chapter after this will be the final one. I hope to have it up sometime this week, early of next week at the latest. Enjoy!_

* * *

Cuddy took a deep breath, refusing to meet his eyes. He shoved his hands into his pocket, shifting uncomfortably as she closed her eyes.

"Come on," she ordered, opening her eyes and shifting them towards the door. Her voice grew firm as she focused on the oncoming crisis and ignored her recent admission. "We have to go."

He stared at her, dumbfounded.

"Go where?" he asked, perplexed by her instructions. He scoffed. "You're not seriously talking about going to the hospital right now, are you?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Where else would we be going?" she asked icily. She shook her head. "Your patient died House. During a surgery that _you_ manipulated into occurring. I have to do damage control, and you—" she paused, her voice breaking off. She sighed in a defeated manner, her eyes meeting his for the first time. His face softened at her pained expression.

Cuddy squared her shoulders and stood up straight, blowing a lock of hair out of her face as she mustered up her courage.

"You have to at least show up. You're not leaving me alone to deal with this."

"We have more important things to discuss," he muttered, raising his eyebrows at her. "Trust me, he'll still be dead an hour from now."

Cuddy shook her head.

"There's nothing to discuss, House," she said sadly. She shrugged her shoulders at him. "It is what it is."

He nodded, looking her up and down as he tried to pinpoint her exact emotions. He didn't know if this was her way of ending it, or if she was subtly telling him that she was caught up in something she couldn't get out. Did she love him in a way that made her feel like she could do anything in the world, or in a way that suffocated her and made her more miserable than a person in love should ever be?

Was being with him painfully satisfying, or was it just…painful?

He sighed. And in an effort to—well, he didn't know why he did it, but his mind was moving a mile a minute and his hands needed to catch up—he picked up her coat and held it out for her, watching as she stepped into it.

"Let's go," he said flatly, nodding in the direction of the doorway.

He watched as she walked in front of him, forcing himself not to think about the fact that he loved her in a way that made him feel like he could do anything in the world.

* * *

The ride to the hospital was relatively silent. They'd wordlessly gotten into Cuddy's car, and he didn't say a word as he noticed she was clenching the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles were almost white.

After about five minutes, House turned towards her.

"Don't you think we should—"

"No," Cuddy interrupted stubbornly. "There's nothing to talk about. We are going to the hospital, and we are going to deal with the death of your patient. Then we can deal with—" she sighed, shaking her head and turning towards him slightly. "Then we can deal with everything else."

"You need to relax," he said, gesturing towards her increasingly tightened grip. "I told you there was nothing to be concerned about."

She scoffed.

"You also told me that you wouldn't do anything to increase Scott's chances of getting the transplant," she retorted. "And look at us now."

"No," House responded playfully, "_You_ said that. I never agreed. I was merely an innocent bystander who pretended to listen to you while I stared down your shirt."

"Is that what you're going to tell the review board at UNOS?" she fired back, raising her eyebrows at him. "Let me know how that works out for you."

He smirked as a slight smile escaped her lips. He knew that she was concerned, and he wasn't so ethically inept that he was unable to come to terms with the fact that what he'd blurred the line between right and wrong—but he also knew that she wasn't as angry as she was leading him to believe.

Her anger was simply a front. She was using it to suppress her feelings, convincing herself that if he pissed her off enough, she might just escape from him unscathed. But her smile and witty repartee suggested that maybe—just _maybe_—she didn't want to escape from him at all.

They pulled into the parking garage, and Cuddy put the car in park and turned towards him. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, propping her elbow up against the steering wheel.

She gave him a pleading look.

"I need you to take this seriously," she said. "Altman isn't going to be pleased that a patient died on her table. She's going to look for someone to blame, and my bet is on you. So just…let me handle it, okay?"

He sat there as she began to open the car door. He stared out the window, not bothering to move as he heard her heels hit the pavement.

"This isn't going to work," he muttered, his fist clenched at the side. Cuddy leaned against the frame of her car door, sighing as she looked over at him. He turned his head. "You're emotionally compromised. We both are," he admitted.

Cuddy eyed him suspiciously.

"What are you saying?"

He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. He didn't really know what he was saying, or what it all meant—he just knew he had to say _something_.

"I'm saying it affects me. You affect me," he answered simply, his voice quiet. "We try to ignore it and we can't. Our motives are unclear."

Cuddy took a deep breath.

"Motives?"

He nodded. "We both know you're going to walk into that hospital and cover my ass," he said. Cuddy scoffed, but didn't dare to disagree with him. "But we'll never know why you did it. You're right, you handle me differently now. We can't ignore this forever, Cuddy."

"I know," Cuddy replied honestly, leaning up against the car door and folding her arms over her chest. She sucked in her breath, not knowing what to say to him. "Let's just deal with this first, okay?" she asked

He nodded.

He got out of the car and limped over towards her. He placed his hand on her elbow, trying to pull her closer to him. Her body gravitated to him like a magnet, but she refused to turn her head towards him.

She lifted a hand to her face, shielding herself from him. Her breath hitched as she felt his fingers traipse up and down her arm, urging her to look at him.

She finally turned around.

"You can't fix everything, Cuddy," he stated, his fingers grasped around her as if he were afraid she might run away.

"Why not?" she asked, sighing as her eyes met his.

He shrugged.

"Some things just aren't fixable."

* * *

They walked into the hospital with a sense of determination. They needed to take care of this as quickly as possible, neither one wanting the repercussions to linger even more than they already had.

Alexandra greeted them at the front desk.

"Altman is waiting in your office," said Cuddy's assistant. She handed Cuddy Scott's file and nodded at House. "She wants to speak to the both of you."

Cuddy nodded as she flipped through it.

"What did UNOS say?" she asked, closing the file and handing it to House. He flipped through it for a moment before shutting it. There wasn't anything in the file that he didn't already know.

"Nothing much. Something about how heart transplants are always risky." Her eyes darted back and forth between House and Cuddy, noticing their slightly uncomfortable state. They were standing further apart than normal, and Cuddy was continuously fidgeting with the watch on her wrist. "Is everything okay?" she asked, concerned.

Cuddy nodded.

"Nothing for you to worry about," she stated. She looked at House and gestured towards her office. "Come on," she ordered. "Altman isn't exactly one for waiting."

Alex shot House a perplexed look, and House simply rolled his eyes and followed Cuddy into her office.

Cuddy took a deep breath as she opened the doors to her office. Dr. Altman was sitting in a chair across from Cuddy's desk, her blonde hair swept up into a sleek ponytail and her scrub cap neatly tied around her wrist.

She stood up as she heard the pair walk in.

"Dr. Cuddy," she greeted, giving her a slight smile. "House," she said coolly, nodding curtly at him. "I'd like to talk about Scott Matthison."

"Oh is that why you asked us in here?" asked House mockingly. He shrugged. "I thought you wanted to discuss the weather, or puppies, or gauge the floppiness of Wilson's hair this week."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"House, shut up," she ordered, turning towards Altman. "What exactly did you want to talk about? I read through the file, it seemed pretty straightforward. Sometimes organs just don't take, we all know that."

Dr. Altman nodded.

"I do know that," she answered confidently. "But he shouldn't have been on that table in the first place."

"UNOS seemed to disagree with you on that one," House piped in. Cuddy shot him a warning glare. "Look, patients die. That's med-school 101. If you can't handle that then you need to find a new profession."

Altman scoffed.

"This has nothing to do with my surgical abilities or level of professionalism and everything to do with _yours_," she fired back, leering at House. "You walk around like you can do whatever the hell you want, stealing patients and manipulating surgeries. You may save lives, but your actions suggest a certain level of irresponsibility, and I'd go as far to say that you destroy more lives than you actually save," she accused.

Cuddy's eyes widened, but House held his hand out to her, stopping her form interjecting—she'd fought enough battles for him.

"You hate me. I get it. I _embrace_ it. But my responsibility is to the patient, not to you. You wanted that surgery to happen just as badly as I did, otherwise you wouldn't have recommended that he get bumped back up to number one. The difference is, I'm not too much of a coward to admit it."

Altman shook her head.

"No, the difference is that I'm not arrogant enough to think that I could have done anything to change it once he'd been dropped down to number two," she sneered. "Everyone knows you did something to him, House." She turned towards Cuddy. "And everyone knows you let him. And everyone knows why."

"Leave her out of it," House ordered.

Cuddy sighed and squared her shoulders.

"Be quiet Dr. House," she said firmly. She turned towards Altman. "Dr. Altman, if you have proof that Dr. House acted in a way that was detrimental to the patient's health, I would appreciate that you enlighten us now, as opposed to wasting all of our time berating House for his slightly unprofessional tendencies."

Altman remained quiet for a minute, taken aback by Cuddy's harsh tone. House sighed.

"An autopsy wasn't done. His body was too weak to accept the transplant, every surgeon in there knew that was a possibility the minute we opened up. But that's not the point," she argued.

"If you're claiming that Dr. House is the reason that the patient died, then it is most certainly the point," Cuddy said diplomatically. "Look," she began, her voice growing softer. "I realize that you're upset over the loss of your patient. But lashing out against Dr. House isn't going to change anything. And turning this tragedy into a personal vendetta isn't going to reflect poorly on Dr. House, it's going to reflect poorly on you."

House smirked, beaming at Cuddy with what she could only assume was pride. She quickly narrowed her eyes at him.

"So you're going to completely ignore my accusations?" asked Altman, baffled by the direction the conversation as going on.

Cuddy sighed.

"With no proof, what choice do I have?" she asked.

Altman shook her head.

"You could fire him," she stated. "I understand that his department makes this hospital look good, which in turn, makes you look good. But he makes everyone else look bad. It's time you realized that."

"Dr. Altman," Cuddy began firmly, "I'm only going to say this once. Dr. House is an integral part of this hospital. You may not agree with his methods—and let's be honest, most people wouldn't—but he is effective. Scott Matthison was going to die on the table. It doesn't matter that he got the heart under unusual circumstances, or that he even got it at all. Even with a transplant, we knew the chances of him surviving were slim."

Altman scoffed and rolled her eyes in disbelief. House shifted uncomfortably in his seat, occasionally tapping his cane against the floor.

"Are we done here?" Altman asked in an irritated fashion, crossing her arms over her chest. Cuddy simply nodded. "I'll see myself out then." She got up and cast her eyes down towards House, shaking her head at him before she hurriedly walked out of Cuddy's office.

When Cuddy heard the door slam, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her hands fell to her face, and she sighed as she began to rub the frustration out of her temples.

"That was—"

"House," Cuddy interrupted, her face still in her hands and her elbows propped up on her desk. "I need you to _not_ speak to me for at least two minutes. Do you think you can manage that?"

He nodded.

"Sure. When did you want to start? Because I could start counting now, or after I finish speaking to you, but then we'll fall into the awkward place where I say something and then you feel like you have to respond, and then it's just a vicious circle."

He could feel her glaring at him through her hands. He nodded and relaxed into his chair.

Cuddy sighed once more. She felt like her life had fallen to pieces right in front of her eyes, and there was nothing she could have done to stop it. She could feel herself contradicting herself left and right, but she simply couldn't help it. He would corner her like he did in the parking lot, and she would crumble at the slightest _hint_ of his touch. And she would try to convince herself that she had everything together, that she was _handling_ it, but she wasn't.

She was trapped—but the worst part of it all was that she couldn't decide if she wanted to escape or not.

Cuddy wordlessly got up from her chair and walked towards her bathroom. House eyed her suspiciously before getting up and limping towards her.

She was leaning against the sink, her hands wrapped around the porcelain edge. He hovered over her, and she could practically feel his breath on her ear. She shook her head as she looked up into the mirror, watching as he pressed his cane up against the wooden door, shutting it forcefully.

"You infuriate me," she stated, lifting her eyes towards his.

"I know," he said, nodding at her. He inched his head down towards hers, his hands moving towards her thighs. He stepped between her, pushing her skirt up with every tantalizing touch.

She sucked in her breath as he lifted her up, settling her on the sink. Her eyes closed and she arched her back, extending her arm out to grip the handle of the door; she quickly locked it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him closer to her. "Sometimes I can't decide if I hate you or—" her voice broke as she felt him reach underneath her skirt and pull her lacy grey thong down to her ankles.

He let his palm rest against her as he wrapped his other arm around her waist, supporting her as she writhed underneath him. His mouth closed over hers, and she moaned into him as his tongue traced over hers. She gasped, deepening the kiss as she felt his thumb rub against her clit.

He pulled away from her and dropped his head to her neck, her back arching as he thrust two fingers inside of her. Cuddy's arm slammed against the wall as she felt for something to hold on to; her fingers found the hand towel, but she pulled at is so hard that it immediately fell from the ring that had been holding in.

She settled for his shoulder instead.

"What was that other thing you were going to say?" he teased, his mouth tracing down the side of her neck. She moaned as his pace quickened inside of her, and she spread her legs even further, hooking them behind his back.

She shook her head. "Wouldn't you love to know," she murmured, her nails digging into him. She slipped her hand underneath the collar of his shirt, dragging her fingers across his skin, leaving marks as she gripped on to him.

"I think I have a few ideas," he muttered. Cuddy shot him a devilish grin before tilting her head towards him, catching his lips in a distracting kiss.

Using the heel of her newest pair of Jimmy Choos, she dug her heels into his side, reaching in front of her with one hand and unzipping his jeans. She smirked as his pace began to slow. She moved her hand from his shoulder to his face, tracing it across his cheek and down his abdomen before placing it between her own thighs, resting it against his own. She covered her hand over his, guiding him and perfecting his movements as his fingers moved inside of her.

She arched her back as she forced his pace to quicken, and his forehead fell against hers, their mixed sounds of pleasure filling the air. Cuddy gently pulled his hand away from her, forcing his palm to flatten against her. She looked up at House, who was taking immense pleasure in watching her take control. Cuddy pressed her lips against his again, using her tightened grip around his waist to push down the dark denim of his jeans.

She removed her hand from his, relinquishing control back to him. She smirked as she shifted, her shoulders moving back and forth as she ran her fingers across the hem of his boxers, somehow managing to simultaneously think about his future and her current pleasure. She dipped her hand into his boxers, gently brushing her hand up against him as she shoved them down his thighs.

She removed her lips from his, smirking up at him before placing her hand back on his. After letting his hand linger on her and apply a bit more pressure, she slowly removed it, her hand moving to his hips.

He gripped her thighs, lifting her up slightly and causing her hips to buck towards him. She wrapped an arm around his neck to steady herself, throwing her head back as he entered her. He reached his arm over her head, placing it on the wall to steady himself as he moved inside her. She gripped his waist with her hands, her knees bending out to the side and brushing up against the side of his shirt.

"We're doing it again," she murmured, her head falling back against the wall and her eyes closing. "Using sex to avoid our problems."

He thrust into her and pressed his lips to her neck. "Seems like just as good solution as any," he answered.

Her back arched and her breath hitched as he dipped his hand underneath her shirt, looping it around her waist and bringing her closer to him. "We need to stop," she whispered regretfully, gasping once more.

He nodded against her forehead.

"We'll stop eventually," he said, his lips brushing across her cheek.

Cuddy scoffed.

"Will we?"

He didn't answer. He thrust into her once more, her lips parting as he began to send her over the edge. His arm fell from the wall behind her, his hand grazing across her cheek and tucking her hair behind her ear. She kissed him, one hand gripping his waist and the other gripping the edge of the sink that was supporting her weight.

She pulled away, knowing she was close. He lifted his finger towards her, and she bit down on it, muffling the sounds of an orgasm she hoped she never had to stop having.

* * *

House barged into Wilson's office unannounced. Wilson was sitting at his desk, going through patient files. He nodded at House, who walked in and flopped down on the chair across from his desk.

He gave about three sighs before Wilson finally acknowledged him.

"Something on your mind, House?" he asked flatly, not bothering to look up from his files. He smirked and then lifted his head up, throwing his pen down on the desk. "Let me guess, it concerns Cuddy."

House shrugged.

"Whatever it is that you did, apologize and move on with you life."

"She told me she loved me," he muttered, his eyes cast towards the ground. "More like screamed it at me, considering we were in the middle of a fight. But you know Cuddy, timing has never been her strong suit."

Wilson's eyes widened.

"Wow," he exclaimed, his mouth hanging slightly open. "I mean…wow. What did you say? Did you say it back? I mean, do you—do you know, do you love her?"

"It doesn't matter. It's not going to work out."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Oh right, I forgot that it's your destiny in life to be miserable," he mused. "You and Cuddy are like children who refuse to admit that they still need their parents to tell them what to do. You're both so intent on being independently miserable that you've neglected to realize that there is a _chance _of being happy together."

"It's not about that," House answered, shrugging Wilson off. "She thinks I'm an irresponsible bastard who constantly put her job at risk. A patient died and she's using it as criteria to reevaluate our entire relationship."

Wilson nodded his head back and forth.

"Do the two of you even _have _a relationship?"

House scoffed.

"Of course we do."

"No you don't. You have sex—casual sex, might I add—and you suppress your real feelings so you don't have to admit that there might actually be something there. Because the only thing worse than ending a casual relationship with Cuddy is ending a casual relationship with Cuddy that had the _possibility_ of turning into something more. If it didn't matter, you wouldn't be sulking in my office."

House shook his head. "I am not sulking," he protested firmly.

Wilson narrowed his eyes questioningly at him.

"So you're here for advice?" he suggested smugly, leaning back in his chair. House remained silent. "I told you from the beginning that this was a bad idea, House. The two of you are like magnets. You have this weird, gravitational pull towards each other, and it's stupid for you to diminish it by even _associating_ it with the word casual. If you love her, tell her. It's that simple."

House scoffed.

"Nothing is that simple," he muttered. "If it was, she wouldn't feel the need to tell me that we should stop using sex to avoid our problems while we were in the middle of having sex."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You do need to stop using sex to avoid your problems! How is it that the two of you are so incapable of functioning like normal, semi well-adjusted adults?" he asked, shaking his head and unknowingly asking the question that had been plaguing House's mind for hours. "Let's start form the beginning," Wilson suggested, pushing his file to the side. "Where did it all go wrong? Tell me what happened with the patient."

House shrugged. "Nothing happened," he muttered. "He needed a heart, I got him one. It's that simple."

"If I remember correctly, you just said that nothing was that simple," Wilson pointed out. "I heard about your patient, House. What did you do? Force feed him a bottle of vicodin?"

"What I did doesn't matter," House countered irritably. "What matters is that I did what she couldn't, and she's pissed."

Wilson shook his head.

"That's where you're wrong, House. What you do matters. Even if it doesn't matter to you, it certainly matters to Cuddy. Did you think about her _at all_ when you let that patient take all of your pills?"

"Of course I did!" he exclaimed, growing frustrated with the conversation. "Why do you think I did it? She wanted that patient to live. She wanted him to get the heart. But she has a certain level of morality that I clearly don't possess, so she left it to me. She's blaming me for acting in a way that she anticipated. That's completely irrational."

Wilson's shoulders dropped.

"Of course it's irrational!" he said. "Relationships are irrational. They rarely ever make sense, and even when they do, you still question your every move. But you do it because you love the other person, even if you can't admit it."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door followed by the sounds of Cuddy's heels walking into Wilson's office.

"Need you," she said, nodding her head towards House. "Now," she said firmly.

House smirked.

"Her libido really is something to marvel at," House said suggestively, raising his eyebrows in anticipation.

Cuddy sighed and Wilson rolled her eyes.

"I'm serious House. There was an anonymous tip to the Board. They called an emergency meeting and they want you there. They're talking about firing the both of us."

* * *

"Thank you all for making the time for this," said Sanford Wells, the current chairman of the Board. "Based on the accusations made towards Dr. House, we felt that the emergency meeting was necessary."

"What exactly are the accusations?" Cuddy asked, the irritation clear in her voice. "You didn't exactly provide us with enough time to seek counsel, if that's the direction you're heading in."

Sanford sighed, shaking his head lightly at Cuddy's semi-dramatic antics.

"I assure you that legal ramifications are not going to occur as a result of this meeting, Dr. Cuddy. This is simply about the lack of professionalism and neglect of moral and ethical codes that Dr. House exerts," he said diplomatically.

House rolled his eyes.

"Then what is she doing here?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair and pointing towards Cuddy, who was sitting next to him. "If this is about me, make it about me."

"Dr. Cuddy is here as a witness and as your supervisor. She has stated before that she takes responsibility for your actions," Sanford said, reading off a piece of paper in front of him. He turned towards Cuddy. "Is that still true, Dr. Cuddy?"

"No," House answered blatantly.

Cuddy shot him a warning glare.

"Dr. House is my employee. While I obviously can't oversee his every move, I am a factor in his decision-making process."

Sanford eyed her suspiciously.

"So that's a yes?" he asked, baiting her.

Cuddy sighed.

"I suppose it is."

Sanford nodded. "Take us back to the patient, Dr. Cuddy. Why did you assign the case to Dr. House? Based on its simplicity and Dr. House's tendency to take on cases that present a certain level of difficulty, it seems that it was perhaps too mundane a task for him."

"Scott Matthison has been in and out of this hospital for years," she explained. "I wanted him to receive the best care possible. As you know, Dr. House is one of our best doctors. Frankly, I felt that the patient deserved the best. It had nothing to do with the complexity of Dr. House's typical cases."

"So it's safe to say that you felt a personal connection to the patient?"

House rolled his eyes.

"She feels a personal connection to almost all of the patients in this hospital," House argued. "She manages to be objective and subjective at the same time. That's why she has her job and you have yours," he muttered.

"House, I can handle this," she said softly, turning her head towards his.

"We'll get to you in a minute, Dr. House," said the chairman. He turned his attention back to Cuddy. "Mr. Matthison was slated as number one on the transplant list, is that correct? And then he suddenly moved down to number two?"

Cuddy nodded.

"That's correct. They moved him down at the last second."

"Do you know why that is?"

Cuddy shook her head.

"No," she stated. "All we know is that UNOS felt that someone else was a better candidate for the heart. They don't reveal the specifics of that patient's condition."

Members of the Board began to nod at each other, exchanging knowing glances and suggestive whispers. House reached underneath the table, gently placing his hand on Cuddy's knee. He went to squeeze it, but she quickly recoiled.

He gulped as she turned her attention back to the board.

"And you alerted Dr. House of this news?"

Cuddy nodded.

"As Mr. Matthison's attending physician, Dr. House needed to be made aware of the circumstances so he could articulate them to the patient. It was my duty as Dean of Medicine to make sure that he fully understood what was happening in regards to the transplant falling through. I was doing my job."

"And what about Dr. House?" asked Sanford, nodding in the direction of House. "Was he doing his job?" he asked smugly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Excuse me?" Cuddy asked, slightly taken aback.

"We have a witness that places you and Dr. House right outside of the patient's room," he explained, looking over his piece of paper once more. "It says here that the two of you were engaging in a pretty heated argument. Coincidentally, it seems to have occurred at the precise time that you were informing House of Mr. Matthison's status."

Cuddy nodded and cleared her throat.

"That was a personal conversation," she said confidently. "It had absolutely nothing to do with the patient."

"A personal conversation?" Sanford asked, raising his eyebrows at her in disbelief.

"Yes," she answered. "Dr. House and I had a disagreement earlier, and your witness must be referring to the argument that resulted because of that. As I said before, it had nothing to do with the patient."

House rolled his eyes.

"What exactly is it that you're trying to prove here? I've worked here for years, and this certainly isn't my first time being summoned to an ethical review board. If you're trying to pin this on Dr. Cuddy, you're going to fail miserably. She didn't do anything wrong."

Sanford Wells raised his eyebrows at House.

"It's just a bit mysterious to us that a stable patient went into severe cardiac arrest moments after being told that he wasn't sick enough to receive the heart transplant that he needed to survive. If it's not Dr. Cuddy's fault, then whose is it? Yours?"

House shook his head.

"How would you react if someone told you that you had days to live? You'd be a little distressed, wouldn't you?" he asked, surveying the room. "Do you have any idea what kind of damage that news can do somebody who is _already_ experiencing congestive heart failure? The shock of it all sent his heart into overdrive. It happens."

Sanford nodded.

"Let's go back to this personal conversation between you and Dr. Cuddy," he began, gesturing towards the both of them. "Does it have anything to do with the fact that the two of you have been having a sexual relationship outside of work?"

"Excuse me?" Cuddy asked angrily, her brow furrowed in discontent and utter horror.

"There have been rumors to suggest that you and Dr. House have started a relationship that is more than just professional," he explained. "The Board is simply concerned that it's beginning to affect your judgment and professionalism here at work."

"This is wildly inappropriate," Cuddy accused icily. She pushed her chair out from the table and got up, gesturing for House to do the same. "Patients die every day, even when doctors do everything they can to save them. Scott Matthison is a prime example of that. It had nothing to do with me or Dr. House, and everything to do with the longevity of his congestive heart failure. If the Board wishes to sit down and have an organized meeting in regards to my rumored relationship with Dr. House, I'd be more than happy to oblige. Until then, I think we're done here."

Cuddy stared down the Board, her shoulders squared and her jaw set in determination. She noticed that a few of the female member of the Board were silently agreeing with her, nodding along at the outrageous suggestion to her sex life.

Sanford nodded and closed his legal pad, refusing to say a word as he gestured towards the door. Cuddy nodded curtly at them before stalking off, making a point to ensure that her heels clicked with as much determination as she could muster while she walked.

House lingered back, watching as she left the room, smirking to himself as the door slammed behind her.

"Huh," he mused, turning towards the board members. "I guess she really does need the eggs."

* * *

Cuddy stormed into her office, not bothering to close her door; he was just going to barge in after her in a few minutes, anyway. She collapsed into her chair, her shoulders dropping and her hands falling to her face. She took a deep breath, trying to stop the tears that she'd been suppressing for over half an hour from falling.

She had put her job on the line for _him_. She'd done it before and she knew she'd probably do it again, but there was something different about it this time. She wasn't protecting her hospital or a colleague—she wasn't even protecting a close friend.

She was protecting someone she loved, and she hated herself for it.

Predictably, he limped into her office moments later. He stood in front of her desk, staring her down at her hunched over figure. He sighed.

"Something on your mind?" he asked playfully. She scoffed. "Look, I wanted to—" he paused, his voice trailing for a moment. She lifted her eyes towards him. "I wanted to thank you for defending me in the way that you did. You risked your job for me and I…appreciate it."

"It's funny," she began, sitting up straighter and leaning towards him. "I didn't hear the words "I'm sorry" come out of your mouth," she stated, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Is that what you want?" he asked in disbelief. "An apology? For what? Doing what you wanted me to?" He shook his head. "I'm not going to apologize for that. Do I regret the situation that it put you in? Sure. But that doesn't mean that I would do anything differently. And you wouldn't have either. So stop pretending that you wouldn't have saved my ass if we weren't sleeping together."

Cuddy shook her head.

"I did that to save your ass professionally, not personally," she stated, narrowing her eyes at him. "Believe me."

"You did that because you wanted to. Because you knew I was right!" he exclaimed, sighing in frustration as he moved closer to her desk. He lifted a hand to his face, rubbing his temple as he gathered his train of thought. "You agreed with me, you were just too much of a coward to do anything about it. And you're pissed because I forced your hand."

Cuddy glared at him in disbelief. She got up from her chair, silently pushing it in as she walked around her desk, her arms folded over her chest. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"You think you know everything, don't you?" she accused.

He shrugged.

"When it comes to you? Yeah, I do," he answered confidently. "Why else would you have given that patient to _me_? If you wanted someone to hold his hand you would have sent Wilson in there. And don't even _begin_ to try and sell me on that whole " he deserved the best" bullshit. Consciously or not, you wanted someone who would make sure he got that heart."

Cuddy rolled her eyes at his arrogance.

"You don't know me, House," she sneered, her eyes flaring. You think you do, but you don't. You think that because I let you fuck me when no one is looking that you've got me all figured out."

He scoffed at the audacity of her admission.

"That's bullshit and you know it," he retorted. "I've had you figured out for years! Admit it, you lied because it was me. Because deep down, you _know _me. You always have. What would you have done if it had been Foreman? Or Wilson? What then?"

She sucked in her breath, her arm falling to her side in frustration. "Foreman or Wilson wouldn't jeopardize my career just to stick it to the man!"

He rolled his eyes.

"You think that's what I did?" he asked in disbelief. He shook his head. "I saved your patient's life, for the time being at least. That's what I did. You're the one who hid behind rules and guidelines to save face."

"Those rules and guidelines exist for a reason!" she shouted, the anger she'd pent up in the last hour finally exploding with every icily phrased word. "You don't get to play God with another man's life! What about the guy who'd been waiting for that heart? What if he'd had a family? A wife? _A child_. Don't you dare stand in front of me and try to pretend that this was all about the patient. It's never _just _about the patient with you! There's always a hidden meaning, always," she ranted. She scoffed, her head shaking as she spoke. "What point were you trying to make this time? Is this your sick, twisted way of admitting your _actual _feelings for me?"

He inched his head closer to hers, his voice soft, with the slightest hint of disgust. She took a deep breath.

"Are you seriously _that_ conceited?"

She folded her arms across her chest.

"You tell me!" she ordered. "Since apparently you know me so well," she muttered offhandedly.

He rolled his eyes and moved closer towards her. She began to recoil, but her eyes flickered up towards his, and they met for the briefest of movements before her grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. She stumbled over her feet and he caught her in his other hand, immediately pressing his lips against hers. Her lips were cold against his, unwelcoming in a way that they'd never been before.

She quickly shoved him off of her.

"Get off of me," she ordered. He sighed and stepped away.

Hot tears sprang from her eyes and she closed them, refusing to watch him _watch her_. She felt sick, nauseous at the way things had turned out. Three hours ago she had let him fuck her senseless, and now she was standing in the middle of her office, pushing him away physically and emotionally.

She felt empty inside, like he had drained her. And she hated herself, because she'd let him.

"You can't—you can't just kiss me and think that makes everything okay!" she said, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. She sucked in her breath. "Dammit that's not—that's not what this is anymore! You can't do this to me, House," she said softly, pleading with him. "I'm a person. A real human being. And I know this is hard for you to understand, but I have feelings and pride and I—" her voice broke as she ranted, and she turned towards him, unable to hide the pain that was etched across her face. "And I expect a certain amount of respect. Especially from you."

He sighed.

"I don't know what you want!" he bellowed, his face falling as his eyes met hers. "You didn't want your patient to die. I get that. So I did everything I could to make sure that didn't happen. You want me to admit my feelings to you? Open up to you?" he asked coldly, shrugging her off. "Fine," he said nonchalantly, glaring at her. "I love you. I'm in love with you. And I don't fucking know what to do about it. Are you happy?"

She shook her head. He was unprepared for the sob that escaped her, and he sighed, because he'd never seen one person in so much pain. The tears were streaming down her face, and he slowly walked over to where she was standing. And in a move that surprised them both, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into his chest.

She fought him off at first, not wanting to feel any part of him pressed up against her, but she eventually gave in. She clutched on to his shirt with her fists, her face buried in his chest and his arms wrapped around her body.

It felt like they were silent for an eternity.

When the tears subdued, she pulled away from him. "I didn't want this to happen," she said honestly, her eyes swollen and her voice cracking.

He nodded in agreement. "I don't know what you want me to do," he muttered. "I don't—" he sighed, unable to finish his sentence. "Tell me what to do to fix it."

She sucked in her breath.

"I don't think we can, House," she said sadly. "We can't—we can't fix something that was broken to begin with."

He sighed, knowing that deep down she was right. They'd been playing with fire for too long; it was about time they got burned.

He turned to leave her office, giving her one last pleading look. She gave him one of the saddest smiles he'd ever seen. With his hand clutched around the knob, he turned around once more, facing her as he said:

"You were wrong before. When you said I didn't know you. I know you count your steps when you walk down the hall. It takes you twenty to get from the nurse's station to the elevator, in case you were wondering. More depending on the how tight your skirt is that day or if you're wearing a new pair of shoes."

She couldn't help but smile as he continued.

"I know you'd prefer to put two sugars in your coffee, but you force yourself to only have one. I know I shouldn't speak to you until you've been awake for at least thirty minutes, and I know that Annie Hall is your favorite Woody Allen movie, even though you'd never admit it because you'd hate to be so cliché. You fear weakness more than anything else, and you don't realize it, but that's what makes you so strong. And you lied to that review board because deep down, you wish you had the guts to do what I did. And that's what you love about me. And both of us know that you'll never stop."

She watched him limp out of her office, his back turned to her as he walked. And she sat there, tears welling in her eyes as she thought about the fact that a goddamn _heart_ had caused all this heartache in the first place.

* * *

_Please don't come at me with pitchforks. And to all you Americans celebrating, happy memorial day! have a hotdog for me. _

_-Alison_


	13. Final

_A/N: This is shorter than normal, but there wasn't much story left to tell. I kind of hit you over the head with metaphors with this one, but what the hell. I'm extremely sad to see this story go, but it's been a blast exploring this type of relationship-in all honesty, sometimes it's what I'd wished had happened on the show. _

_Also, I'd like to once again give my immense appreciation to Flynn, who has supported me throughout this entire story. I could always count on her for everything from characterization and plot development to the color of Cuddy's underwear. I love you, my little Irish Pony._

_And without further ado.._

* * *

_Three Months Later_

Lisa Cuddy took a long, generous sip of her non-fat vanilla latte, barely listening as her sister talked a mile a minute about anything and everything; currently, her chosen topic was about how the new family dog was struggling to become acclimated with her youngest son.

Cuddy sighed as they wandered through the aisles of Sephora. She'd sacrificed her lunch break to spend some time with her sister and restock on some of the more necessary items that she seemed to have suddenly run out of or misplaced; mascara, eyeliner, blush—things of that sort.

She smiled sadly when she realized that most of them were probably hidden in the bathroom cabinets of Gregory House. He'd probably found them by now, and that made her cringe, because he'd most likely thrown them away.

They'd barely spoken in these last few months. After their breakup—if you could even call it that—they'd avoided each other like the plague. House sent someone from his team if he needed her approval on some outlandish request, and she knew it was irresponsible, but she almost _always_ approved them—if for no other reason than it meant she could avoid a confrontation with him.

It was weak. She knew it, he knew it, but they both ignore it because it was easier than admitting to that and everything else that had gone wrong in the past.

"Lisa?" Julia said, pulling Cuddy away from her thoughts. "Are you even listening to me?"

Cuddy sighed as she threw a perfume roller into her basket.

"Yes," said Cuddy defensively. She gave her sister a comforting smile. "It's a puppy, Jules. It will learn to love Jackson eventually."

Julia smiled.

"That's what I keep telling Matthew, but he doesn't seem to believe me," she answered, sighing as she thought back to her husband's indication that he wanted to give the puppy back. Julia shrugged. "Let's go look at the lipstick," she suggested, smiling at her sister. "I think NARS just came out with a new line."

Cuddy nodded, grateful for the pause in the monotonous conversation. There was a red line on the amount of talk about Julia's home troubles that she could handle, and they'd crossed it around the time Cuddy had taken her first sip of her slightly boring latte—she was nearly half done with it at this point. And as she lifted her cup to her nude glossed lips, she couldn't help but wish she'd gotten a soy chai tea latte instead.

Cuddy fumbled with the tubes absentmindedly, turning them in and out without really paying attention to the colors. Avoiding the reds altogether, she picked up a semi-drab looking nude color.

"That's barely a color," Julia pointed out, scoffing at her sister. Cuddy rolled her eyes. "What about that red color you got the last time we were here? What was that called?"

Cuddy cleared her throat. The last time she'd bought lipstick she'd ended up in the bathroom with her legs wrapped around the waist of Gregory House, and the red shade smeared across his collar.

She sighed.

"Sinfully Scarlett," she answered, pretending to look for it amongst the red shades. "It was fun for a while, but I think I've outgrown it."

Julia nodded.

"I remember liking it," she said. "Who knows, maybe you'll go back to it."

Cuddy smiled and picked up a pale pink color.

"Maybe I will."

* * *

"You know when you die, your grave stone is going to read: Here lies Gregory House. He took advantage of his friends and stole food for a living", said Wilson, narrowing his eyes as House slid into the chair across from him and picked up half his sandwich and a quarter of his fries.

House shrugged as he took a bite of the sandwich. He winced as he got a bite of pickles.

"You're so selfish Wilson," House mocked, throwing the sandwich back down on the plate. "You know I don't like pickles."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Well I do," he answered, picking his sandwich back up. "Maybe one day you'll learn to pay for your own food." He sighed and pushed his fries towards House. "Until then, here."

House smirked as he popped a fry into his mouth.

"Enabler," he accused.

Wilson nodded in agreement. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Cuddy tiredly reaching for the boring salad she pretended to like. He checked his watch, noticing that it was nearing three in the afternoon; she must have skipped lunch earlier.

He looked over at House, who seemed to suddenly be _very_ interested in his plate for fries. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You spoken to her yet?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Not since you asked me twelve hours ago. Nothing's changed. Find a new topic, Wilson," he said irritably, annoyed by his friend's need for incessant and constant badgering.

Wilson shook his head.

"You two are being ridiculous."

"Yeah," said House mockingly, drawing the word out and tilting his head to the side. "That tends to happen when two people stop sleeping together."

Wilson sighed.

"But you told her you loved her," Wilson noted, sighing as House averted his eyes to the ground, "and she said that she loved you."

House shrugged. "And yet…"

"Nothing will change if you don't at least speak to her, House," Wilson said, turning his head towards where Cuddy was sitting. She was sitting alone in the cafeteria, occasionally forking through her salad and furiously typing away on her blackberry.

Wilson pulled out his phone and sent her a text message, urging her to come sit with them. He could practically feel the icy glare she had given him when she received it. She ignored him and went back to her salad.

"Cuddy and I are done," he muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

Wilson shook his head, letting out a slight laugh.

"We both know that's not true."

House shrugged.

"Why else would she have ignored the text message you just sent her?" House asked, raising his eyebrows at Wilson, who was giving him a defeated look. House smirked. "Yeah, I noticed your sore attempt at meddling. Cuddy thinks I'm the thorn in her dainty, perfectly manicured paw," he said, rolling his eyes. "Eventually it got to the point where she thought the best option was to pull me out and see what happened. But the thing is, when you pull a thorn out of your paw, you tend to bleed. A lot."

Wilson shot him a look of confusion.

"That has got to be the most poorly constructed metaphor I've ever heard come out for your mouth," he chastised, rolling his eyes as he took another bite of his sandwich.

House shrugged as he stuffed what appeared to be over ten fries into his mouth.

"I'll try to think of a different way to explain why Cuddy thought it would be a good idea to stop sleeping with me," he mocked. He paused, tilting his head to the side in a sarcastically pensive manner. He smirked and pressed his finger to his temple. "Maybe I'll rely on good old Aesop to tell the story. What do you think? The Scorpion and the Frog?"

"The Lion in Love seems to fit best," Wilson mused, raising his eyebrows suggestively at House. House rolled his eyes. "House, I'm serious. You need to talk to her. Your relationship at this point is like an open wound. It's going to fester, and then sooner or later, the infection is going to run rampant through your body and flare up without warning. It's been months," he added seriously. "You need to deal with this."

Wilson sighed as he noticed House was staring off into the distance. He smirked, watching as House did his best to conceal the fact that he was watching Cuddy as she dug through her purse. House's smile softened as he watched her tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

Wilson cleared his throat.

"Sorry," said House, turning his attention back to Wilson, who was giving him a knowing glare. "I was trying to think of a fable where the meddler ended up trapped in a web of his own making."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You're hopeless," he accused. "Want to grab a drink tonight? Amber has yoga on Wednesdays."

House nodded.

"I can't wait until the two of you break up so I can reclaim my spot as number one companion," he muttered, scoffing as he got up. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have doctery things to do."

Wilson smirked, giving him a slight wave as he walked away. He sighed as he watched House limp across to the other side of the cafeteria, taking the long way and avoiding Cuddy with every step.

* * *

"Enjoying your lunch?" Wilson asked, sliding into the seat across from Cuddy.

Cuddy looked up from her salad, giving Wilson an unconvincing smile.

"Not particularly," she answered, sighing as she pushed it away. "What's up?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him. Ever since she and House had parted ways, her relationship with Wilson seemed to suffer as a result of it.

And the worst part was that she didn't exactly blame him.

"Do I need a reason to have lunch with you?" he asked innocently.

Cuddy smirked at him.

"No, but I'm not an idiot, Wilson. Or blind, for that matter. Just because he limped around me doesn't mean that I didn't notice him."

He sighed.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned. "I heard about that meeting you had with the Board. That must have been hard."

Cuddy averted her eyes. About a month after the Matthison case had been put to rest, the Board had re-approached her about her relationship with House. She had divulged certain information that she would have preferred to keep to herself, but there was no use in denying that the relationship took place. She didn't appreciate the fact that her sexual activity was moving from a topic of discussion in the gossip circuit to a topic of discussion in the boardroom, and it was slightly humiliating to say the least, but it had cleared her head in a way.

She reexamined, reevaluated, and retraced her every move when it came to Gregory House, and she cursed herself inwardly, because she still missed him.

"I managed," she said confidently, flicking her eyes up towards Wilson. He sighed, not missing the waver in her eyes and the slight hesitation in her voice. Cuddy cleared her throat. "How um—" her voice broke and she shook her head, cursing herself for being so openly concerned. "How is he?"

Wilson paused, shaking his head back and forth as he processed her question; she rolled her eyes at his condescendingly diplomatic nature.

"Spit it out, Wilson," she ordered, her voice growing firmer.

He sighed.

"He's…he's House," he answered, shrugging nonchalantly. "He's hurting, but he doesn't show it. He's upset, and he lashes out at his team from time to time, but that's no different than what he does on a regular Tuesday afternoon. But he's never taken avoidance to this level," he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

"I know," Cuddy murmured softly, her voice chock full of pain and regret. She sighed. "I don't…I don't know what to do. He's never avoided me like this. Not for this long, at least."

Wilson nodded.

She let out a slight laugh. "I even wore a skirt that was borderline inappropriate last week," she muttered, slightly embarrassed at the measure she had taken. "Crickets. He won't even look at me, Wilson."

"He thinks he's infected you like some virus," Wilson explained. "He thinks he causes you to do stupid, irrational things, and I think…I think that's what's upsetting him more than anything else. Because he can't stand the fact that you may be the best thing in his life but he may be the worst thing in yours."

Cuddy sighed.

"That's not what he is to me," she said sadly, slightly aware of the tears that were beginning to pool in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away.

Wilson nodded, flicking his eyes towards the door to the cafeteria.

"You should tell him that."

* * *

She caught him as he was getting in the elevator. He furiously pressed down on the button in a futile attempt to force the door closed before she could catch up, but even in six inch heels, Lisa Cuddy managed to do whatever she set her mind to—and her mind was set on being in that elevator.

She gracefully slid between the doors as they were closing. He sighed and turned slightly away.

Cuddy rolled her eyes at his disposition, folding her arms across her chest as she glared at him, her shoulders squared and her eyebrows raised; he didn't even flinch. Cuddy shook her head and took a deep breath, mustering up all the courage she had as she reached for the emergency button. She pressed down on it with a force she didn't even know she _had_ and the elevator quickly came to a screeching halt.

House steadied himself on the wall, glaring at her.

"Warn a cripple next time will you?" he demanded, glaring at her.

She shrugged, ignoring him.

"We need to talk," she said, turning to face him.

He sighed.

"And that required you practically send me into cardiac arrest?" he asked mockingly, gripping his chest as he regained his balance. "On the other hand, if this is your way of initiating a blow job, then by all means please continue."

"I needed to get your attention," she explained. "Seemed to be the only way."

"If you're here to tell me you love me and then proceed to dump me, don't worry, you've already done that," he muttered.

"You're twisting what happened to make it seem like you're the victim," she fired back, outraged. She wasn't exactly innocent in all of this, but she _certainly_ wasn't the only one who was guilty. "I don't know why I'm surprised," she said sadly.

"You seem to be getting long just fine," he spit back, something they both knew was the furthest thing from the truth.

She'd started to visibly break down about two months ago. Her pain was more subtle than his; a chipped nail here and there, an extra cup of coffee in the morning, loose curls instead of the pristine and time consuming flattened locks that she preferred.

"I'm not here to rehash our past mistakes," she said, sighing as she looked him up and down. "I just want us to…" her voice broke and her eyes closed for a brief moment, her hands nervously fidgeting with the imaginary frays on her blouse as she searched for the words that wouldn't quite come.

"We can't go back to the way we were before, Cuddy," he said pointedly, flickering his eyes towards her.

She nodded.

"I know," she said, her grey eyes meeting his. She took him in, her face falling at his worn expression and tired demeanor. "This hadn't been easy for me, House," she explained, pleading with him. "I know you think you're the only broken one here, but I wake up every morning and I bury myself in work and I…and I feel like I'm _dying_ inside."

He sighed and leaned up from against the wall, tentatively limping towards her. She brought her hand to her head, her fingers rubbing against her temple as she spoke.

"And I'm sorry that things ended the way that they did," she added softly, opening her eyes and meeting his. "That's not what I wanted to happen."

He nodded.

"I put you in an impossible position. I shouldn't have done that," he admitted seriously. His face softened into a slight, mocking smile. "But you shouldn't have expected anything else from me," he joked.

Cuddy let out a slight laugh.

"I realized you were right the minute you walked out of that door," she said, recalling her feelings from that night. "Whether it was consciously or unconsciously, I wanted you to do it," she muttered, frustrated by her own stubbornness.

He smirked.

"Don't look so pleased," she said, scoffing at him. She folded her arms over her chest. "But that doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of our problems, House. You and I can't function in that type of setting."

He scoffed.

"I think we handled one of those departments pretty well," he said suggestively, smirking at her.

She rolled her eyes. "You know that's not what I meant," she muttered, her face turning slightly red at his indication. "What I'm trying to say is that it was stupid for us to think we could work in a casual relationship," she admitted.

He nodded in agreement.

"Whatever our relationship is…or was," she clarified, slowly walking towards him, "it's always been the furthest thing from casual."

He looked down at her, watching as she took tentative steps towards him, images of the past year flashing through his head. They'd had nine months of pure bliss, blurring reality with every tantalizing kiss and stolen glance, and he sighed, because he realized they could have had those things even if they _hadn't_ decided to keep things casual. It wasn't the secrecy that kept it exciting; it was her—it was _them. _

He turned to face her.

"Do you think it was a mistake?" he asked.

She smiled at him. She knew he wasn't asking about the details to their relationship—they'd both recognized the fact that they'd made mistakes. But he'd spent these last few months thinking that there was a hint of regret in her words, and that the mistake wasn't the way they handled things—it was them.

"No," she answered honestly.

He nodded. And glad for the tiny bit of clarity that she had offered, he released the emergency button, the doors opening to a crowded lobby. He turned his head, their eyes meeting in a comforting glance before he walked into the light.

* * *

Wilson watched from the front desk. Chase joined him, placing a few patient files on the desk as he watched House limp away; Cuddy exited the elevator and made her way towards her office with an air of confidence that she seemed to be missing these past few months.

He looked questioningly at Wilson.

"That still a thing?" he asked skeptically, nodding towards the elevator that they had just come out of.

Wilson shrugged.

"That's always going to be a thing."

Chase nodded.

"Maybe they were right all along," he suggested, sighing. "Cameron's acting strange, Taub's marriage is a complete lie, and they seem…happy. Or at least, they did."

"In a very weird, dysfunctional alignment of the stars kind of way, she's his best friend," he explained. "House sucked me in years ago. I'm trapped. Cuddy…she seeks him out. They work because underneath all the manipulation and sarcasm, they have a real understanding of one another."

Wilson sighed, wondering how two of the smartest people he knew couldn't manage to function when it came to their personal lives.

"But," he continued, looking over at Chase who seemed to be pondering his words, "they're both too stubborn to admit it, so they'll never make it as a couple."

Chase shrugged.

"Stranger things have happened."

* * *

House was nursing his second scotch, pretending to listen as Wilson told him the story of how Amber cheated when they went to play miniature golf last week. House rolled his eyes as Wilson took a sip of his Apple Martini.

He thought he was going to fall out of his chair when he spotted her. She walked into the bar and he swore her mere presence classed up the otherwise slightly seedy dive. She was wearing an extremely short and very tight fitted black long-sleeved dress, and her hair had gone from the half-heartedly styled curls to a straighter and effortlessly flawless look.

Wilson turned towards House.

"By the way," he said, suddenly more sober than he had been letting on. "I invited Cuddy. Figure it out," he ordered, picking up his martini. "This is the last time I'm getting involved."

He patted House's shoulder as he walked away, nodding curtly at Cuddy as he passed her. House smirked.

"Buy me a drink?" Cuddy offered, smiling seductively as she slipped into the stool next to him.

The familiarity of the scene was not at all lost on him. He motioned for the bartender, and after taking once glance at Cuddy, he quickly made his way over. House smirked when Cuddy ordered a vodka martini; that's what she'd been drinking when they went home together that first night.

He looked over at her. She was wearing a lipstick he'd never seen before; it was a pale pink, demure in color but fitting, in a sense. He liked it.

"You look nice," he said seriously, complimenting her without an agenda for the first time in what felt like years.

"Thank you," she answered, smiling as she lifted her martini glass to her lips. The remnants of her lipstick were smeared on the rim. She lifted her glass towards him. "Truce?" she offered, not quite knowing what to say.

He let out a slight laugh and clinked his glass against hers.

"Truce," he said before taking a sip.

They slid back into their former state of friendship and witty banter easier than she had anticipated. She told him about the torturous dinner she'd had with her mother and sister the previous week, and how they'd somehow spent half the night blaming her for the death of the family hamster when she was nine. He filled her in on all the gossip circling around Taub, and how he was a self-proclaimed addict when it came to cheating. They both wondered what the hell was going on with Cameron, who couldn't quite seem to commit to Chase; Cuddy thought it had something to do with her dead husband, House assumed it had something to do with the blonde hair, claiming that blondes simply couldn't be tied down.

He shrugged and took a long sip of his scotch when Cuddy pointed out that Chase had blonde hair, too. She laughed at his playfulness.

And when her hand accidentally grazed his, he didn't recoil right away. And she didn't stop him when he ordered her a second martini.

He turned towards her as she took a sip.

"Cuddy," he said seriously, staring down into his glass. She readjusted herself, crossing her legs and unknowingly revealing the slightest hint of her thigh to him. He turned back towards her. "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night? I promise to find the _least_ casual restaurant in the state of New Jersey."

She smiled sheepishly, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. She looked down at her glass, watching as a pale pink outline of her lips formed on the rim. She let it linger there, not daring to wipe it away.

She turned towards him, her eyes dancing playfully as she inched her hand towards his. Her mind wandered towards the pink lipstick that was stashed in her clutch, and the dangerously addictive red that was hidden in his cabinets, deciding that what she _really_ needed in life, was a little bit of balance.

Cuddy took another sip of her martini, her hand inching dangerously close towards his. She reached into her bag, added another coat of the pale pink, laced her hand through his and gave him a smirk, feeling infinitely better than she had in a long time.

* * *

_A/N: You decide what happens next. Thanks for reading!_

_-Alison_


End file.
